


The Wait

by pelespen



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-04-25
Updated: 2010-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 04:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelespen/pseuds/pelespen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <div class="center">
<img/></div><div class="center">
<i>A third war lost, darkness dominates the magical world and is encroaching on the Muggle world as well. A Prophecy arrives nearly eighty years too late, revealing a lost fate that would change everything. Meanwhile, one man waits for a single promise to be kept.</i>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to Tink Wolfe, Calisto Kerrigan, and Jade Charmer for running beta, handholding, and pushing at various times throughout the progress of this story. Also thanks to Calisto for the amazing banners and graphics that go with this story as well as the others!
> 
> This is a slow Work In Progress, so please be patient. I write fanfiction as a break from original fiction and real life. And I often take breaks from this story to write shorter, smuttier, less plot-driven pieces for the sake of stress relief and entertainment. But I promise this won't get "abandoned" without an official announcement that I'm doing so.

  
  


  
_March 29th, 2078_

It was well after midnight and she'd been awakened by the dream again. Muttering darkly to herself, the old woman drew her shabby housecoat around her deceptively frail form and shuffled into the tiny kitchen to make a cup of tea.

"Again, Hermione?" an older man's voice asked with warm amusement. The question came with a wry chuckle from the painting above a small two-seater table in the corner.

She offered nothing more than a _harrumph_ to the portrait as she dropped a tea bag into a chipped mug.

The man's brilliant green eyes twinkled in amusement from behind his glasses, laugh lines deepening around the edges. "You know, for as many times as you used to harass me about recurring dreams…"

"Oh, that's rich," the woman threw back over her shoulder. "And what does the brilliant Harry Potter propose I _do_ about dreams of a man I've known longer dead than alive?" She dropped into the chair below the portrait, glaring at her best friend. His salt and pepper hair still stuck out hopelessly in all directions, giving him a look of timeless youth despite the age he was when the painting had been commissioned.

He simply smiled softly in return. "You'll figure it out, Hermione – you always do. Your water's about to boil."

She got up and filled her mug. Just as she was spooning the sugar, however, a _pop_ sounded from her living room, causing a jolt of alarm in her. She grabbed her wand from the counter, but before she could creep to the kitchen door, a familiar young voice called to her.

"Grandmamma?"

Relief mixed with a deeper sense of alarm swept over the old lady. She rushed into the living room to her only living blood relative. "Persephone! What on earth are you doing here – you shouldn't have come. He'll find out-"

The tall slender witch with auburn curls wrapped her arms around her grandmother in a brief but warm hug. "I know, Gram. But this is important."

"Important!" Hermione scoffed. "Important enough to get yourself killed or worse?"

Persephone gazed at her solemnly. "Yes, actually," she answered, and pulled from her robes an iridescent sphere that Hermione recognized immediately.

It had been a lifetime since she'd had the misfortune of seeing one, well, thousands, actually. It was unmistakably a Prophecy. But The Hall of Prophecies was destroyed ages ago, along with much of the Department of Mysteries, which made it all the more disturbing to see one in the hands of her own granddaughter.

"Persephone, how?" Hermione asked warily, shaking her head.

The younger witch took a deep breath. "I did it." Her blue eyes were fathomless with the gravity of what she had to tell her grandmother. "Gram, it's about you. It's _your_ Prophecy."

Hermione frowned at Persephone, then very nearly laughed. What kind of meaningful future secrets could a dying old woman have? She shook her head and then held out her hand.

Persephone paused before handing it over. "There's something you have to know, first. I don't understand all of it myself, but somehow the timing is off."

"Off? What do you mean?"

"I mean, it came to me tonight, but it's for something that is supposed to happen, was _supposed to have happened_, in the past." Her tone reflected how ludicrous she knew this sounded as she muttered, "Nearly eighty years in the past, actually."

Hermione's frown deepened. The only way, the only _reason_ a Prophecy would be this late, would be because someone had _meddled_. Meddled with the Prophecies or with time, or both. She swallowed and motioned with her fingers. Her granddaughter obliged then, placing the sphere into her wrinkled hand.

~O~

"Grandmamma, you must go back. I know you can - you're the only one who can. You must save our world - this is not how it was supposed to be." There was a slight note of hope behind the urgency in her granddaughter's voice.

Hermione was seated on the threadbare old couch, overwhelmed by the words she had just heard from the now dim sphere resting on a worn cushion on the coffee table. Pieces started fitting together in her head in some places, falling apart in others. She slowly looked up at the redhead standing in her living room. "Persephone, you understand if I go back and this prophecy is fulfilled, you _will_ cease to exist? We _both_ might cease to exist, at least as we are now…"

The young woman was clearly long beyond tears in this life. She shook her head sadly at her grandmother, possibly the only other living witch in their world who had not died or succumbed to the darkness that ruled everything. "Grandmamma," she whispered pleadingly, "I don't _want_ to exist in this world. _Please_."

There was a sudden thundering crack outside, and the wards on the old witch's cottage shuddered violently. They'd found her at last.

Persephone thrust the Prophecy back into Hermione's hand. "The Time Turner, Gram! GO!" she said, urging the old woman into action. Hermione dashed into her bedroom, straight to the bookshelf by the fireplace. She grabbed a smallish wooden box from the fourth shelf and made to return to the living room, but Persephone had sealed the doorway behind her. "GO!" Hermione heard her yell from the other side of the door.

Fighting every instinct she had to stay and protect her only living relative, she steeled herself, the silvery orb in her hand reminding her of the one last hope that was far more important than either of their lives. She grimaced and turned on her heel, thinking of a place long since destroyed and forgotten.

_Hogwarts._

~O~

No one had been near the ruins of Hogwarts in decades. While they had been able to finally tear down the wards that prevented Apparition in and out of the grounds, something of the ancient magic remained that made it unusable for the dark wizards that had desecrated the old school.

The air shimmered briefly before a soft _crack_ sounded, accompanying the sudden appearance of a very tired looking old woman. She paused only momentarily, clutching a wooden box to her chest, before picking her way up the overgrown path to the crumbling castle.

She pushed thoughts of her granddaughter out of her head. She'd had too much practice at it over the years. She'd made the grave mistake ages ago of giving in to her heart, and they'd counted on that. She'd narrowly escaped herself, only after being forced to witness the murder of her daughter Rose and son-in-law Scorpius. It was a mistake she never made again.

Silver unkempt curls flew around her shoulders as she purposefully climbed the stairs to the main entrance. The mammoth wooden doors swung open easily with a flick of her wand hand. She tried not to pay much attention to the pathetic remains around her, focusing instead on getting to the old headmasters' office as quickly as possible.

There were no secret passwords anymore. No more whispers from paintings. _Even the ghosts, and Peeves himself had been evicted from their ancient home._ Hermione smirked to herself. That alone should have tipped her off ages ago that something was wrong with the way of the world. Hadn't she been taught that ghosts couldn't leave the boundaries of the places to which their spirits were tied? And yet, Sir Nicholas, the Bloody Baron, the Fat Friar and the Grey Lady – all were gone.

Her pace quickened with resolve from this one more clue. Her footsteps echoed off of the cracked walls as she approached the small curved staircase, no longer guarded. Remnants of the old stone gargoyle were still scattered in pathetic pieces across the hall. She closed her eyes briefly, taking a breath before climbing the steps.

When she reached the door at the top, she opened the wooden box in her arms, and pulled out the pristine golden ring encircling the little hourglass. She draped the chain around her neck.

_So much power for such a tiny trinket._

She pushed open the door and stepped into the room, no longer an office, no longer anything, really, except a wasted carcass of a room. She kept her eyes focused on the floor, refusing to see the charred ruins, refusing to waste any more time grieving yet another failure.

Her gnarled fingers flipped the timepiece with a deftness that belied their age, and she braced herself for the onslaught of nearly ten decades ripping past her.

~O~

_March 29th, 1980_

Even at the greener age of ninety-eight, it was rare for Albus Dumbledore to display surprise, much less shock. Had she not been preoccupied with gut-wrenching dizziness and blinding head pain, Hermione Granger might have even laughed at the feat she so easily performed by suddenly appearing in the headmaster's office, nearly one hundred years earlier.

As it was, however, she found herself mildly annoyed by the Body-Bind curse he threw at her, momentarily disabling her from succumbing to the need to retch. With a quick mental twist she shirked the hex and slumped to her knees, coughing bile onto the decorative rug and stone floor.

As Albus raised his wand again, she held up a hand between heaves and spoke hoarsely, "Really, Headmaster, if I meant you harm you would know it by now."

He hesitated for barely a second before flicking his wand again. This time, Hermione simply felt a warm physical calm sweep through her, easing her nausea and headache.

She rocked back and sat on her heels, her head bowed as she caught her breath.

"Thank you," she murmured gratefully before vanishing her mess with a sweeping motion of her hand. She silently cursed herself for not better preparing for the adverse reaction to her journey.

Albus frowned, apparently disturbed at the ease with which she performed wandless magic. She had to remind herself that these were different times, so different. The need to develop wandless magic hadn't really been so pressing until the third wave of darkness. She'd had so much practice since then, it was like second nature now, her wand used more for detailed magic and strong channelling than anything else…

"Madam, while I accept you may mean no immediate harm, I must insist you explain yourself," he stated with the gentle yet commanding tone she recognized with a pang.

As Hermione looked up into his wary but kind and familiar face, she was overwhelmed with emotion. She glanced around the Headmaster's office, shaking her head at the flood of old memories.

"Oh, how I've missed-" _all of it_, she thought, before catching herself.

She eased herself up to her feet, accepting Albus' hand for help, and brushed off the front of her worn robes. She took a deep breath, and her brown eyes, now fringed in grey lashes and thin wrinkled skin, met the clear blue of her old Headmaster.

"Professor Dumbledore, you don't know me yet, but my name is Hermione Granger," she stated, giving the maiden name she had readopted upon the death of her husband decades prior.

Alarm flashed in the wizard's eyes as he backed up, dropping into a chair. He shook his head.

"No," he began. "You can't be here," he muttered almost to himself before raising his volume to a direct level.

"You cannot be here now," he repeated, and it almost sounded like an order. "Madam Granger, wherever you've come from, I _must_ insist that you go back. You have no idea of the repercussions-"

Annoyance flickered across Hermione's wizened features.

"No idea?" she interrupted in an irritated tone. "Albus Dumbledore, I'll have you know I am nearly one hundred years old. I have spent the last thirty-seven years of my life studying time travel and picking apart history."

She strode over to him and dropped something shiny into his lap. "Do you know what that is?"

He picked it up and frowned. He knew it was a Time Turner, but not just any Time Turner. It had very specific runic markings on its polished surface. Identical, in fact, to the one he was currently safeguarding for the young witch who'd arrived just a week ago in a similar fashion to the old woman standing before him. It was one of a kind, but here was its duplicate, lacking in the scratches and scuffs of time passed. "How…" he whispered.

"I made it!" Hermione practically crowed. "After the Ministry disaster, all of the Time Turners were destroyed, and they were never able go back this far, anyway. So I made one. The problem was, I couldn't use it. Didn't know just where to begin, or when or even _if_ things started to go wrong." Her lips curled almost into a sneer as she added in a mutter, "Repercussions indeed."

Catching herself, she took a deep breath and the ire in her tone was swiftly replaced by something indefinable. "They did, though…go wrong. And tonight, I finally have proof." Her voice softened with a soul deep pain. "Albus…the time I come from, it's – it's all wrong." She shook her head.

"Wrong?" he frowned questioningly.

She nodded slightly and repeated, "Wrong. Not just terrible, but _wrong_. Something somewhere happened. Someone… meddled, and…" She closed her eyes, swallowing back the desperate pain of the past countless years. "There's a darkness that is greater than anything you will ever see, and it won."

"Voldemort…" Albus whispered, more to himself than anything.

"No," she replied. "Not Voldemort, but worse – much worse. There's nothing left now. We lost the third war, Albus. They've completely taken over our world, and are well on their way to taking over the rest."

She spoke softly, but matter-of-factly, reiterating her original point. "The world – the _future_ I'm from…. is wrong. I've known so for quite some time, but I didn't have any definite answer or proof until now."

She reached into her cloak with a wry and bitter smile, pulling out the silvery sphere her granddaughter had brought to her. "Any clues as to how a Prophecy would come into being only now, about something that was _supposed_ to have happened more than seventy years in my past?"

The headmaster gazed silently at her, his blue eyes piercing as if seeing into her soul. It was a look she remembered well, even if it was from a lifetime ago. And, just like it did then, it stripped away any pretence she might have hoped to carry.

Hermione took another deep breath, her expression urgent and sincere. "Professor Dumbledore, I beg you – there really was no one else I could go to with this. The other in the Prophecy…" she dropped off, muttering more to herself, "Well, Merlin, but he would be here in this time now, wouldn't he?"

Brown eyes flicked up to blue again, remembering. "Before I give you this, there is one other very important thing. I don't know if you're already aware, but in the Department of Mysteries, there is a – a room, with an ancient stone archway, and a veil…"

Albus nodded his head slowly, clearly familiar with the artefact.

She continued, "It's said to be a veil between the living and the dead, but no one ever studied the effects of physically falling into it. It was just assumed that to do so meant absolute death, but that's not exactly correct. I know how to charm it, Albus. Not – not to bring back the dead on the other side, but to retrieve those living who might... _fall in to_ the archway, physically passing through the veil itself." She paused, wringing her hands helplessly.

Hermione was becoming frustrated with herself. All of these things that made perfect sense to her probably sounded like the ramblings of a mad crone to the wizard before her. She didn't really have a choice, though. Sirius Black would be the one to fall, stuck there between worlds in a nightmarish purgatory.

By the time she'd unlocked the mysteries of archway in the Death Chamber and attempted to retrieve her best friend's godfather, Sirius had succumbed to the madness and horrors found on the other side of the archway. There was hardly anything left of the man, certainly nothing left to bring back. The nightmares that haunted Hermione from that point forward were relentless. She was never able to tell Harry exactly why she dreamed of his "dead" godfather, certain he would never forgive her for failing him so. There was simply no way she could explain what thirty years in a place more maddening and hellish than Azkaban would have done to the man. She wasn't even sure what a few years would do to him, but she had to believe he'd survive it well enough for her younger self to rescue him in time to fulfil the Prophecy.

Dumbledore was waiting patiently for the old witch to gather her thoughts. She cleared her throat, trying to maintain a calm tone as she continued. "Look, it is absolutely imperative that _I_ charm back the veil – my younger self. There will be someone who falls through – there's obviously no stopping that without creating a world of other problems, even preventing things from happening as they _should_. But if he isn't returned…" She shook her head and pulled a small leather notebook from another pocket in her robes.

"These are my notes for the Death Chamber. I am the only person who can read them. I don't care how, but my younger self – she… I… that is, he must – well, he _will_ be returned, and I am the one to do it. But I must have these notes in order to do it. Am I clear?"

Her businesslike demeanour faltered under Albus' scrutiny as he considered her silently. Somehow, despite the fact that they were now nearly the same age, the headmaster still managed to make her feel like a nervous third year as seconds passed.

"I know this is a lot, Professor…" she said softly, her tone pleading.

Albus eyed the Time Turner in his hand, his thumb running over its surface absently. He stood and regarded the elderly witch, his gaze troubled. After another moment of consideration, he simply sighed and nodded, holding out his hand.

Hermione let out a breath she wasn't aware she was holding as she handed him her journal first. She smiled slightly and shook her head. "Sirius Black, of all people," she muttered as she gave Albus the silvery orb that would speak the Prophecy and hopefully grant her a peaceful oblivion.

Albus looked at her expectantly and she simply waved a wrinkled hand over the sphere. Immediately the gentle voice of her granddaughter began to speak.

As the last word was spoken, Albus looked up at Hermione, comprehension filling his expression. She felt an odd wave of lightness pass through her as if her very molecules were loosening. She smiled fully for the first time in probably decades and a peaceful whisper of thanks passed her lips as she faded completely from sight, leaving Albus Dumbledore alone with a second Time Turner, an old leather journal, and a Prophecy that was perhaps even more important than the one whose secrets he was already working to protect.

~O~

_March 29th, 2078_

Just as the powerful old crone Disapparated from the rundown cottage, the wards on her house failed with a loud crack, and the front door blasted off its hinges.

They flooded the living room like a murder of angry crows, surrounding the fiery haired witch who stood defiantly. A large and imposing wizard stepped through the door casually, his dark features set into a hateful scowl.

"Visiting your filthy Mudblood of a grandmother, dear wife?" He sneered maliciously. "I would have thought even you would know better – lead us straight to the old hag, you did."

Persephone glared evenly at her Death Eater husband, not saying a word.

"Where is she?" he demanded, his wand pointed at her chest. She'd been forced into marrying the ringleader of this group, a plot designed to eventually track down the powerful old witch and bring her to their Lord, who would then siphon her magic and gain complete reign over both the magical and Muggle world. Tonight was his night of triumph, and he could finally be rid of the disgusting urchin that was his wife.

"TELL ME," he bellowed, but Persephone merely smirked.

"_Crucio!_"

She crumpled to the floor, screaming and writhing in pain that seared every nerve ending in her already wasted body. The glamour she'd cast on herself to prevent her grandmother from fretting slipped easily away, revealing the gaunt and bruised frame of a woman subjected to years of abuse.

_This will all be over soon_, Persephone repeated mentally, between jolts of agony. She endured the torture for what seemed like hours before he finally stopped, rage flushing his face.

"Fine, bitch," he snarled. "Tonight I'll be done with you either way."

She heaved a great sigh of relief, readying herself for the flash of green as he pointed his wand one last time. "Avada Ke- _wha..?_"

Everything shimmered and fell into blackness, and the last thing the dark wizard saw was a peaceful smile on his wife's face.

Persephone LeStrange was no more.


	2. A New Assignment

_~Chapter 1~_

_September 18th, 2000_

Having just returned from a long, but relatively uneventful Order meeting, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was settling in at her writing desk with a cup of tea, when the small clock on the mantle began its delicate chiming. She loosened the severe knot of hair at the nape of her neck, letting the peppered silver tresses tumble free as she massaged her scalp.

She sighed, recalling the row that nearly broke out, yet again, between Draco Malfoy and Ronald Weasley at the meeting. The grudges and animosity between those two closely rivalled those of Severus and Sirius in their day.

_Sirius…_

A small frown worked her brow as she prodded at her memory. Something about Sirius Black had been repeatedly drifting to the forefront of her mind for the past several weeks.

Just as she was reaching for the cup that was still steaming, the last tiny bell of midnight sounded, along with a subtle _click_ from the corner of her desk. Rather, it came from the small wooden box that had sat on the corner of that desk for longer than she had been headmistress.

"Ah! So it is time," came the familiar voice of her predecessor from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at the portrait that hung above her desk, but he merely motioned to the box with his frequently irritating, all-knowing smile.

Minerva pursed her lips in consternation and reached for the old wooden box. It had sat there untouched for so long, she hadn't really given a thought to its inevitable opening in ages. She already knew what she'd find inside - Albus had explained everything in great detail years ago.

As her fingers lightly traced the intricate rose carved into the aged mahogany, she had the amusing thought that she felt rather like Pandora. Only, according to Dumbledore, opening the box would apparently _prevent_ the impending chaos that was looming over their world, unbeknownst to them all.

She exhaled in exasperation with herself and flipped the lid open, finding inside the three objects Albus had described to her so long ago: the leather journal, the Time Turner, and the Prophecy, kept safe for two decades.

It was the leather journal that would be used for now. As she removed it, the Prophecy rolled to the corner of the box with no fanfare; it may as well have been one of Sybill's ridiculous crystal balls for as lifeless as it seemed. The Time Turner merely glimmered slightly in the light of the oil lamps around her office. The journal was as battered and worn as could be expected for its age, but was otherwise completely unremarkable.

Minerva didn't know what she expected, and was surprised to realize she expected anything. She knew the pages of the journal would be unreadable, and she wasn't the sort to go peeking anyway. She closed the box and sealed it with her own locking charm before sending a Patronus to Kingsley.

~O~

The vaguely human-shaped mound of bedding stirred only slightly at first. As the tapping on the window grew more insistent, however, a muffled groan of protest escaped from beneath the covers. Finally, in a fit of resigned frustration, the thick down comforter and blankets were kicked aside and a now very grumpy witch stomped across the hardwood floor of her bedroom to the window. Not one, but two owls awaited her, both pecking at the glass.

Hermione groaned again, this time at the sight of the torrential rain currently soaking the messengers. She threw open the sash, bracing herself for the cold wet mess that was certain to follow.

Sure enough, the familiar little bundle of feathers that was Pigwidgeon, along with Alastair, Harry's new tawny owl, both nearly tumbled into her room, shaking the water off their feathers before lighting on to the back of her desk chair.

Even the usually exuberant little scops owl was cold and wet enough to stay still, but chattered animatedly nonetheless. Alastair, on the other hand, merely stared at Hermione with something between indignation and reproach.

"Alright, alright, you two," she said with a wave of her wand, casting a drying spell over the owls before cleaning up the wet mess that had followed them in. She couldn't help but smile as she untied the packages from the birds' feet, happy that her two best friends had managed to remember her, even in the middle of their current assignment.

Just as she was reaching for the dish of owl treats, however, Hermione glanced at the clock on her desk and gasped in horror.

"Nine thirty?!" she shrieked, nearly upsetting the dish and causing both owls to give a startled flutter.

"No – nonononono!" she cried as she made a mad rush around her flat to get dressed.

Hermione was always early to work, enjoying the quiet opportunity to gather her thoughts before starting her day. It also afforded her a nice walk to the Muggle entrance of the Ministry, stopping at a local stand along the way for coffee and a bagel. She was _always_ early, never just "on time." And she most certainly was never, ever _late_.

She left the bedroom window open just enough for the owls to depart when they wished. Snatching her shoulder bag and jacket from the desk, she reached for the dish of floo powder by the fireplace, her gut twisting unhappily.

~O~

When she finally skidded into her cubicle, out of breath and still panicked, the first thing Hermione noticed was the steaming cup of coffee sitting on her desk, next to an apple crumble muffin.

"Happy Birthday, Hermione!" The dreamy lilt of her co-worker's voice drifted over the partition to her desk.

Half a moment later, a familiar pale blonde head poked around the corner, a soft smile on her lips. "You look terrible," she said matter-of-factly before adding, "Mrs. Weasley baked muffins this morning. I wasn't sure how you took your coffee, though."

"Thank you, Luna," Hermione said with sigh, immensely grateful despite the frank observation about her looks. She _did_ look terrible; she'd managed to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror-like sheen of the main door on her way in. She wasn't surprised, given the poor quality of sleep she'd been getting lately.

Last night had been the worst. Every time she'd closed her eyes, she'd been assaulted by nightmares and visions that didn't make sense, dreams of people no longer alive, some whom she'd never known, and some she'd never even heard of. By the time she'd finally settled into a deep exhausted slumber, it must have been nearly five in the morning. She thanked Merlin for Ron and Harry's owls, wondering if she'd still be fast asleep otherwise.

"Has Tages been by yet?" Hermione asked nervously. William Tages wasn't necessarily an unpleasant boss, but she would readily admit the wizard made her nervous. When she and Luna were initially tapped for the Department of Mysteries, Hermione had erroneously considered it to be a "job offer," and had asked for a day to consider it. She was then immediately escorted to William Tages' office, where the dark-skinned wizard with eerie violet eyes explained to her, in no uncertain terms, that the position of an Unspeakable was not optional as long as one was a Ministry employee.

Arthur Weasley had explained to her later that the Department of Mysteries pulled its employees from those witches and wizards whose intelligence and skills stood out above the rest, in addition to other unknown criteria. As long as you were a Ministry employee, you were fair game. One simply didn't "turn down" a position in the DoM without leaving the Ministry altogether.

Not that Hermione would have turned it down anyway, but she liked to think things through, and the sudden transfer from Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was a bit jarring. It was a fortunate coincidence that her former classmate had been tapped at the same time, making the transition a little less weird. Of course, weird to Hermione was often commonplace to Luna.

"Oh, I'm sure I don't know… I've been working on that second astronomical ley line map that came in," Luna replied, her lips quirking skeptically. "Ashleigh is still convinced it's going to prove that the Planet Room is somehow _wrong_."

As if on cue, a tall witch with short-cropped black curls and an athletic build stopped at Hermione's cubicle and interrupted. "Hey Granger, Tages wants to see you in his office, stat," she said, and added with forced casualness, "Hey Luny, how's that map coming along?"

Luna rolled her eyes and smiled at Hermione. "Just fine, _Ashy_," she called over her shoulder to the gruff witch who was already bustling away.

Hermione swallowed, unable to return Luna's smile as she got up from her desk to go to her boss's office. Luna gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but it did nothing to quell the knot forming in her throat. She was about to be reprimanded for her tardiness, she was certain.

~O~

Hermione reeled in her nerves and straightened her shoulders, reminding herself that she was a Gryffindor, before knocking on the great polished mahogany door at the end of the corridor.

"Come in," a deep voice commanded from within.

She had only ever been in William Tages' office the one time, and braced herself for a similarly embarrassing experience. Her steps were cautious across the plush emerald carpet as she entered.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Have a seat. Would you care for a cup of tea?" her boss asked in greeting. He barely glanced up from his desk as he motioned to the leather chair directly across from him.

"No, thank you," she replied, quickly sitting down. She crossed her legs at the ankles and folded her hands neatly in her lap, waiting for the inevitable dressing down she would receive.

"Very well, then." Tages finally looked up from the parchment he was writing on and regarded her directly. "I have a new project for you," he said, his fingers lightly settling on the leather journal that was in front of him.

Hermione frowned. "Sir-?"

He cleared his throat and picked up the old book, handing it to her over the expanse of his desk. "It's a cryptology assignment," he explained lightly. "I'm told you're the best at breaking codes. No one else has been able to crack this yet."

Realizing she wasn't being called on the carpet for lateness, Hermione quickly covered her surprise. "But, I haven't finished the project I'm currently working on…"

Tages' mouth curled into a rare, wry smile. "Pass it to Luna then. She doesn't need to be wasting any more time with those damned ley lines."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up as she shrugged, taking the tome from her boss. "What do we know about this book, then?" she asked.

The look he gave her was unreadable.

"Nothing," he replied flatly, looking back down at the other papers on his desk. "That will be all."

She frowned and pulled herself out of the chair, recognizing her boss's dismissive tone. She held the book to her chest, her fingers absently stroking the aged exterior as she exited his office, pulling the door shut behind her.

When she returned to her desk, she immediately made work of gathering all of her notes and files for the project she had been working on. Her first and only assignment as an Unspeakable so far was the rather tedious task of comparing the previous inventory of items in the Time Room against the shattered remains of everything that had been destroyed there so many years ago. Hermione was certain it was no coincidence, and suspected that it was a subtle punishment for the fact that it was she and her friends who had been responsible for the huge mess. She was almost sorry to have to pass it to Luna, but for the fact that she knew it would free her friend from her current assignment with Ashleigh the Great.

Once everything was gathered into a medium sized box, Hermione took a brief break to nibble at her muffin and reheat her coffee. She glanced at the battered book Tages had given her, frowning slightly. Something about it seemed – not exactly familiar, but not exactly foreign either. It was nondescript and very old, the worn leather slightly stiff as if it hadn't been touched in years.

She was just about to open it when Luna rounded the corner again, her normal dreamy expression replaced by a rare gleam of mischief.

"I understand you have something for me, Miss Granger?" she chirped as she flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder and grinned.

"Erm… yeah." Hermione motioned to the box that was on the floor next to her desk.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Luna sighed, dropping gracefully into the extra chair in the small cubicle.

"I'm not sure if you should be thanking me, Luna." Hermione shook her head apologetically. "'Tedious' isn't even the word for it…"

"Oh, I don't care!" Luna said brightly. "Honestly, Hermione, even _I_ thought that whole ley line theory was out there. Ashleigh isn't too happy about it, I'll say that much. But at least now I won't have her breathing down my back."

Hermione sat back in her chair and offered a smile to her friend.

_Friend._

After the war, Hermione was the only one of the "golden trio" to return to Hogwarts to complete her N.E.W.T.s. Harry and Ron's absence had left Hermione without her usual social safety net, forcing her to cultivate other friendships - something that didn't come naturally to her even in the best of circumstances. After the year leading up to the final battle, everyone had changed so much. Then the battle itself, with all of its casualties and deaths… to say things had changed was a gross understatement.

Outside of Hogwarts, being a famous war hero had left her feeling pressured to maintain a strong façade. Within the school walls, however, the dynamic was much different. While she, Ron, and Harry had been on the "Great Campout," as she'd once overheard someone say in a derisive tone, the rest of the student body had remained to suffer under the warped regime of Snape and the Carrows that year. They'd banded together, re-forming Dumbledore's Army, only instead of Defence exercises, Neville had essentially trained a literal 'army' of students. _Everyone_ had changed, and it was far more difficult for Hermione to keep herself together without the distraction of looking after Ron and Harry.

Coming to terms with the destruction and loss after the war had been particularly difficult as she went through levels of emotion and grief that defied her usual logic. In addition, she couldn't help but feel separated from the rest of the student body. Whether their resentment was real or a guilt-induced figment of her imagination, she coped the only way she knew how – she closed herself off, and shut down.

It was Luna who had found her crouched in a corner of an abandoned hallway one evening, sobbing uncontrollably. Without hesitation the blonde Ravenclaw had knelt beside her, wiping away her tears with cool, soft fingers before taking one of Hermione's hands in her own.

"No one who matters expects you to be invincible, you know. And you shouldn't have to cry alone unless you really want to," she'd said, as if knowing somehow that being alone wasn't what Hermione wanted anymore.

Whether maturity had softened Hermione's brittle skepticism, or grounded Luna's outlandish acceptance of the fantastic, it didn't matter. For the first time in her life she felt like she actually had a girlfriend of sorts. As spacey as the younger witch seemed initially, Hermione eventually realized that she had quite a bit of depth to her, as well as a wisdom that belied her youth. They also shared a common ground when it came to the day-to-day things; neither of them obsessed over society, fashion, or frivolity the way many witches their age seemed to. After sharing a dorm for six years with Lavender and Parvati, this was a welcome change.

They had encountered a brief phase of awkwardness when Hermione and Ron mutually accepted that they really weren't meant to be. Shortly thereafter, Hermione had found out through Ginny that Luna and Ron had started dating. The hurt she had felt was purely for the fact that her friends had felt the need to hide it from her. Once it was out in the open, she was quite relieved because it meant she and Ron were "safe" as friends again. And, as it turned out, he and Luna were perfect for each other. So much so, that even with Ron out on Auror assignments, Luna spent most of her time at the Burrow. Molly Weasley had grown quite fond of her, it seemed, and had taken her in as another surrogate child to the huge family of blood relatives and fosterlings.

"You are coming to the Burrow tonight, aren't you?" Luna said suddenly, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. Her eyes widened slightly in brief concern. "It's been weeks, you know - Mrs. Weasley has been asking after you, and I left your gift there, too…"

"You really didn't need to get me anything, Luna, but yes, I'll be there."

The blonde witch beamed at her friend. "Wonderful!" she said. "Dinner is at seven."

~O~

Hermione sighed heavily and flopped into the chair at her desk, letting the inertia roll her back into the corner. Somehow, her day had slipped by completely.

_No, not 'somehow,'_ she amended grumpily. She _knew_ how, and that 'how' began with the letter 'A' and ended with the last name of Stonecroft. That blasted Ashleigh was worse than any twelve Ravenclaws she'd ever met when it came to regulations and procedure. Hermione wondered vaguely if she'd ever been introduced to Percy Weasley. The two would make a smashing pair.

Once she'd received word she was losing her 'assistant' on her self-proposed Planet Room project, Ashleigh Stonecroft had run both Luna and Hermione through at least a dozen hoops of paperwork and procedure. "All standard protocol for transfer of projects," the Unspeakable had assured them in that gratingly knowing tone.

_She didn't even have seniority over them!_ Well, not technically. Then again, the Department of Mysteries didn't really have much of a hierarchy besides the Head and his employees. Hermione and Luna were the newest additions to the department, and Ashleigh had been there a year longer than them. Apparently this fact had granted her some kind of self-proclaimed seniority.

Hermione gave an irritated huff.

She had to wonder if dealing with the abrasive witch was some kind of karmic punishment for her own know-it-all, by-the-book ways. She and Luna weren't allowed to even discuss fellow DoM employees outside of work, so all she had was her fair-haired former schoolmate for input. Luna's only response when Hermione had compared herself to Ashleigh was to point out that it was Hermione with whom she was friends - not the dark-haired American witch who'd transferred just after the war.

"Of course," Luna had added, "we did do a lot of fighting and rule-breaking together, so I suppose that skews things a bit. And we were in separate houses, so there's also that…"

Shaking her head inwardly, Hermione silently vowed to keep a closer eye on her own bossy nature, so she didn't become _that._ The most infuriating part was being informed by Tages at the end of it all that only half of the paperwork they'd filed was even necessary - the other half was an obsolete technicality that had been phased out six months ago!

Hermione's gaze fell on the old leather book sitting unopened on her desk. Luna had already left for the day, as had most of the staff. She was due at the Burrow in an hour and a half, and she still looked a mess from having woken up late that morning. She chewed her bottom lip, knowing if she even _opened_ the book, she might get sucked into decoding its secrets. Still, a quick glance wouldn't hurt…

She straightened herself and scooted her chair back to her desk, directing the lamp over her new assignment. She peered closely at its cover and binding, once again curious at the not-quite familiarity of it. Then, gingerly pressing her thumb to the bottom corner of leather, she slowly opened the book and promptly frowned at the yellowed pages within.

It was blank.

Hermione pointed her wand at the parchment and began murmuring revealing charms and silly phrases alike, remembering Harry's Marauders Map. Brilliant magic, and hopeless all the same, because the trigger could literally be _anything._

After a half hour of wracking her brain and muttering everything she could think of to no avail, Hermione tossed her wand onto her desk with a sigh. _Cryptology assignment my arse,_ she thought irritably, resting her head in her hand. _If only Remus Lupin or Sirius Black were still alive…_ She'd been such a stick-in-the-mud about that map and its usage, she'd never bothered to ask either one of them about the magic behind it. Perhaps Harry would lend it to her, but that would likely only be as helpful as the book before her. Charms like that were designed specifically to _not_ reveal their key.

Hermione stared moodily at the blank wall in front of her while she idly thumbed at the edge of the ancient pages. As much as she loved the _idea_ of unlocking mysteries, so far her term with the DoM had been lacking in any of the glamour, excitement, _or_ 'mystery' she'd expected. And now, the one time she'd been given a _real_ assignment, it was proving to be next to impossible. She glanced back down at the book unhappily, prepared to close it and go home to get ready for her dinner at the Burrow.

Her eye was drawn to an odd series of markings on the edge of the page where her thumb had just touched. _That wasn't there before,_ she thought. Her heart pounded as she experimentally brushed her index finger across the top of the paper. Her eyes widened with a gasp as more text revealed itself in the wake of her touch. Quickly, she ran her hand over the rest of the first page, watching it fill rapidly with strokes of ink.

She sat back in awe and blinked at the tome for a moment before slowly reaching into her desk for fresh parchment, a quill, and her bottle of ink. There was something oddly familiar in the scrawl of coded information. She copied the strange symbols and letters to one sheet, comparing it closely to the original to make sure she'd replicated it exactly. Then, she began scanning the lines for a pattern or a familiar character that would serve as a jumping off point. She surprised herself with how quickly she found it, but immediately set to work with the other pieces of the puzzle.

~O~

"Oh, there you are!" Luna's voice jarred Hermione out of her concentration, causing her to start. She winced from the sudden twinge of pain in her neck from jerking around so quickly.

"Sorry," the fair-haired witch said with a smile. "It's such a nice night out, I forgot my shoes. I don't suppose you would have heard me. Is that your new project?" she asked, nodding to the book and sheets of parchment that were now covering the desk.

Hermione blinked at Luna several times before reality sunk in and a wave of shame washed over her.

"Oh, no," she whined. "I – I'm so sorry, Luna – I didn't think… I was just taking a look at it, but I got completely caught up and I lost track… what time is it? Molly's probably furious…"

"She's just worried," Luna said with a shake of her head. "I told her you were probably sleeping, since you looked like you hadn't been getting enough rest. She did make Shepherd's Pie, though. And there's a cake…"

Hermione gave her friend a weak, sheepish smile. "Give me just a minute to straighten up my things?"

Luna gave a soft smile in return and picked idly at a corner of the office partition that was peeling slightly.

As she began gathering her notes into two organized stacks, Hermione felt an overwhelming urge to take them home with her. What she really wanted to do was take the book itself, but that would be breaking the topmost rule of secrecy in their department…

"It looks like you've already made a lot of progress," Luna said, interrupting her thoughts.

"Well, there's still a long way to go. It's in so many layers," Hermione demurred.

"Can I look?"

She didn't see the harm in it. Besides, the Concealing Charm that had been used on the old pages was like nothing Hermione had ever seen. Perhaps Luna would have some insight. She carefully opened the old book again, and frowned. The pages were blank once more.

"Oh!" Luna exclaimed. "It's like that map of Harry's!"

"Well, not quite. Here - " Hermione held out the book for Luna. "It works by touch. The ink's invisible until you run your fingers across the page. Although, what use that's suppose to have is beyond me…"

Luna glanced up at Hermione briefly, then lightly skimmed her finger across the parchment.

Nothing happened.

Luna inspected her index finger, rubbing it against her thumb. "Tingles," she murmured, the slight frown on her face implying that it was not a 'nice' kind of tingle.

"Maybe you didn't press hard enough. Here." She held out the book again, but Luna slowly shook her head.

Hermione gave an impatient huff. "Here – look," she said, and slid her fingers across the parchment, revealing a streak of scribbled symbols. This only served to deepen the rare frown on her friend's face, however.

"How much of that have you figured out already?" she asked, tilting her head, but not touching the book again.

Hermione hesitated. She only had a suspicion, based on the first two pages of notes she'd almost deciphered. And it was very clearly notes – she was certain the book wasn't just someone's personal journal, but a record of research, theories, and experiments. And although she'd only partially translated the first page and a half, there was enough information to cause her heart to pound with the possibilities…

She took a deep breath and sank into her chair, looking up at the pale blonde witch standing in her bare feet. Luna had been there that night, when she herself hadn't – she'd fallen while the others had continued, so she'd never made it to that horrific scene. But they'd both witnessed the fallout, had seen how devastated their friend was at the loss of his godfather.

She knew Luna was trustworthy, but Hermione's head was spinning at the very idea that the book she held might divulge some new information on the stone archway in the Death Chamber. It was a thick tome, but what if it really held nothing new? Then again, what if it did?

Hermione swallowed and forced a small smile. "So far it just looks like someone's journal," she said with a shrug. _It wasn't a lie,_ she rationalized.

Luna simply hummed in response.


	3. Translations

  


_~chapter 2~_

Hermione awoke with a terrified gasp. The blankets had been kicked to the foot of her bed and her sheets were a twisted mess beneath her sweat-drenched body. Her hands were still clenched, wads of fabric bunched between her fingers as she panted, her heartbeat hammering in her own ears.

For several long moments she couldn't move but simply lay there, every muscle in her body tense as she stared into the darkness. It was the soft chime of the clock on her living room mantle that finally drew her attention to reality. She blinked and slowly turned her head to look at the small alarm clock on her bedside table.

_How can that be?_ Hermione wondered. The blue iridescent digits indicated that a mere forty minutes had passed since the last time she had glanced at them.

She'd been fighting her thoughts, if only to allow herself some desperately needed sleep. Ever since she'd returned from her birthday dinner at the Weasleys' - and truthfully all throughout dinner - her mind had been occupied with her new assignment. Not wanting to draw Luna's suspicion or concern, she'd left all of her notes at work. And now, all Hermione could think about were those coded lines of text that unfolded themselves almost too easily.

It had only been a passing concern that they'd revealed themselves to her touch but not to Luna's. After all, everything that came into the Department of Mysteries was carefully screened and checked for curses. For all she knew, the concealing charm could have been put in place by the DoM to prevent anyone but Hermione from seeing her work. They weren't exactly open with their employees about things like that. And besides, that one detail was so small compared to the subject matter those encrypted words were slowly divulging.

_The Veil…_

After tossing and turning for hours, she'd finally willed her eyes shut and walked her mind through a well-rehearsed relaxation exercise. The digital display on her Muggle clock had read 3:03 A.M. That was her last recollection before she'd been swept into a flood of images and sounds so horrifically detailed, so surreal and _freakish_, Hermione shuddered just trying to recall them. It seemed like hours that she'd been lost, drowning in that indescribable terror - not forty minutes. Something had jarred her out of that hell, however. Something amidst the unearthly howling and shrieks… All she could remember was that it was the only human sound there - words spoken, tired and desperate. She couldn't even remember what he'd said, just that the voice was definitely male, and that it had almost sounded like a mantra, a repeated phrase uttered in a broken rhythm.

Disentangling herself from the knot of bedding around her legs, Hermione sat up, knowing she wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon. She stretched, groaning as her muscles and limbs protested. She felt as though she'd run ten kilometres and then been hit by the Night Bus, but dragging herself out of bed was still preferable to the hell that was waiting behind her eyelids. At least she could make up for being late to work yesterday by going in earlier than usual today.

~O~

Luna Lovegood strode purposefully through the small maze of cubicles in the Unspeakables' office area. She was bound and determined that today she would finally pull her friend away from her desk for lunch. The weather was beautiful, and this would likely be the last chance they'd get to eat outside before autumn became too uncomfortably wet and cool for Hermione's tastes. Not to mention Luna was becoming more than a little concerned; the circles under her friend's eyes were becoming darker and darker, and she'd had to remind her to eat on several occasions. And, ever since they'd received their new assignments several days ago, Hermione had been coming in to work long before anyone else - even before Tages - and staying well after everyone went home.

Luna knew how fiercely determined and focused Hermione Granger could be. So much so that without the gentle but sometimes insistent nudging from her friends, she had a tendency to lose herself. As Luna rounded the corner approaching Hermione's desk, she heard her friend muttering.

"Oh, no… no-no-no-no…"

"What's wrong?" Luna asked in a clear voice, secretly satisfied when Hermione jumped, startled. She often found that jarring her friend a bit was the best approach to pulling her away from whatever she was working on.

Hermione turned to face Luna, her face pale and her expression almost sick. She shook her head slightly, her eyes still somewhat unfocused. She blinked and, with a grimace she looked at Luna. "It's… I…"

Unable to find words, she swallowed and looked away in thought, her frown deepening.

"_Hermione,_" Luna said in an uncharacteristically firm tone. "Come along – it's lunch time. You need air."

Hermione looked back up at her friend. She shook her head again slowly. "Luna, we need to talk."

"Oh, good," Luna answered cheerily, already grabbing Hermione's shoulder bag and cloak from the hook just inside her cubicle. "We can talk outside in the park. With food, even. It's lunch time, you know," she repeated pointedly.

Once Luna had managed to pull her away from her desk, Hermione picked a small Muggle Indian restaurant quite a bit away from the Ministry. When they had their food and were seated at an outdoor table, she covertly cast a _Muffliato_ charm around them, as well as any other privacy charms she could think of. It was already a major breach of DoM policy to discuss this with anyone, even another Unspeakable.

Luna didn't bat an eye at these security measures. Instead, she chattered idly about how she'd been trying to get Mrs. Weasley to experiment with some more multi-cultural recipes. "…and Padma might even be willing to come over one day, if she ever gets past her aversion to the garden gnomes. I can't think why she has such an issue with them, since they're such good luck. Last time they bit her was right before she took up with Charlie…"

"Luna," Hermione finally interrupted, but faltered, uncertain of exactly what she was going to say to her friend. Her mind was still reeling from the information she'd just translated that morning. Hell, her entire week had been a surreal and deeply unsettling series of discoveries through that book. This was the first time she'd really stopped long enough to register just how quickly she'd worked her way through the ancient journal. It was a bit of a shock to realize that after a mere handful of days, she had nearly reached the end of the tome.

As more of the author's notes on the Veil of Death were revealed, Hermione had found herself unable to stop. And because the few hours of slumber she'd managed to steal were rife with increasingly terrifying imagery, translating the journal had become the perfect escape from sleep. The end result was that she'd worked herself into complete exhaustion every night that week in the hopes of being too worn out to have the dreams. Still they came, however, and when it became too much to bear, she would tear herself away from the nightmares, load up on more caffeine, and tackle her assignment once more.

Her "assignment…" A simple cryptology job. Right.

_Someone had found a way to travel into and out of the Archway._

Hermione had only been in the Death Chamber twice in her life. The first was that fateful night during her fifth year when she'd snuck into the Ministry under Harry's direction along with a handful of other DA members, presumably to save Sirius. To this very day, she remembered the eerie, disconcerting feeling of dread in that cool, quiet room. Of course, that was only punctuated later by the fact that they'd lost Sirius to that ancient, crumbling stone arch. It never sat right with her that a person could just fall into that tattered black fabric and simply be _gone_.

_Matter is neither created nor destroyed…_

Sirius Black had to have gone _some_where… Even if the Veil _had_ killed him, his body must be somewhere… right? But, where? Of course, Hermione had kept all of these thoughts to herself – even Ron would have had more sensitivity than to discuss such morbid and painful matters with their friends.

The second time she'd seen the Death Chamber was on the orientation tour for her new position in the Department of Mysteries. That time, she'd actually heard the whispers, felt that slight pull towards the gently wafting fabric. She remembered the silent look that had passed between her and Luna - the sad understanding because now, she too had witnessed death.

'What do the Unspeakables do in here?' Hermione had asked.

'Observe and record,' had been the terse reply.

Perhaps that was true now, but at some point someone had taken it a step further.

After a few pages of copying, then translating the journal on parchment, Hermione had grown comfortable enough with the code that she could simply translate it in her head as it was revealed to her. Its author had evidently been an Unspeakable as well - someone who'd worked in the Death Chamber for some time. It had become clear to Hermione several pages in, however, that the leather-bound book was not "official Ministry/DoM documentation." Whoever he or she was, they had taken it upon themselves to do far more than just 'observe and record' the faint whispers of the Veil.

_The Ministry as a whole is not to be trusted, but the Department of Mysteries - now even less so._

Those words had been scrawled in heavy, thick ink, so that it read almost as a warning or even a command, rather than a simple opinion jotted on parchment.

It was after translating those words that Hermione had begun reading ahead before copying everything down. At first, it had been a mere point of curiosity even though she knew she should have reported her findings to Tages immediately. However, as the tangled details of the archway's history spread out before her to be woven into a dark tapestry of truth, her gut told her _no_ \- going to Tages at this point would be a mistake. It was true – the Ministry and Department of Mysteries couldn't be trusted. Even now with Kingsley as Minister, the government was still corrupt and would likely always be. There was always bureaucracy and red tape - the _grey areas_ of morality – regardless of who filled the office.

"Hermione?" Luna's voice gently broke through her thoughts, encouraging her to continue.

"I was wondering," Hermione said slowly, pushing her curry around with a plastic fork, "if you could tell me about that night when we snuck into the Ministry."

The thing was, even though they were really just kids at the time, once everyone's injuries had been sorted and the basic run-down of events given, none of them spoke of it again. Whether it was out of mutual respect for Harry's loss, or simply because it had been their first real taste of battle and the experience had been that sobering, that night at the Ministry was a shared, _unspoken_ experience. Now, however, Hermione needed to know.

Luna tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "You mean, after Dolohov - ?"

Hermione nodded. "Specifically, what happened in the Death Chamber," she said with an intense look. She hoped that her meaning would come across without actually speaking the words, _ 'I need to know if Sirius Black was dead before he fell into the Archway.'_

"Oh… that," Luna answered, an apologetic look in her eyes. "Well, I wasn't there for that part. I was knocked out right before then, you see. I only came to just as Harry and Neville came back into the Brain Room. Harry was chasing Bellatrix," she recounted, "and then Remus Lupin and Neville helped the rest of us get back to Hogwarts…"

"Oh," Hermione said softly, looking down at her lunch in disappointment. _Neville was the only one besides Harry who actually saw it happen, then._ Well, the only one still alive besides _Minister_ Shacklebolt. And of course, an Unspeakable knocking on the Minister's door with questions about the Death Chamber - THAT wouldn't send up a bunch of red warning flags, now, would it?

Hermione already knew she was about to breach nearly every policy in the DoM handbook with what she was considering. She already _had_ toed that line; she'd practically tap-danced across it by withholding information from her superior while discussing her project with her friend. But Luna was a fellow Unspeakable, someone who understood. And this was only one _small, vague_ question, really…

How on earth was she going to explain to Neville Longbottom why she needed his memory of that night, though? She couldn't even recall the last time she'd seen him, and it wasn't exactly something you just showed up on a person's doorstep to ask.

"I can ask him for you," Luna offered serenely.

Hermione's gaze darted back to her friend's face. Luna simply offered a small, placid smile, shrugged, and closed her eyes as she turned her face up into the afternoon sunshine. "I'm really glad you decided to come out for lunch today, you know," she said lightly. "Maybe getting some sunlight will help you sleep better, too. Or, I could brew up a Dreamless Drought for you. Whatever this is, you should probably keep your energy up."

Hermione couldn't help the sigh of relief that slipped past her lips. She really adored that witch sometimes. She looked down at her food and suddenly felt ravenous.

~O~

She was finished.

Hermione had actually reached the end of the journal earlier that afternoon. To quell the pounding in her head and the roaring in her ears whenever she stopped to really _think_ about what she'd just read, she'd started over. This time, however, as her hands skimmed over the pages to reveal the encoded text, she emptied her mind and just _observed,_ taking in every detailed line and scrawl.

It was the first night that week that Hermione had actually left work before nine o'clock. She took the floo network home, wishing to give her mind as little opportunity as possible to wander. As soon as she stepped out of the fireplace of her London flat, she went straight to work.

In the small spare bedroom that served as an office and private library, she retrieved a heavy stone bowl from one of the shelves and several small, empty phials. Then, once she'd secured and double-checked her entire flat and closed the curtains in the small study, she sat down at her desk.

Her wand in one hand and the first tiny glass bottle in the other, Hermione took a deep breath, closed her eyes, pressed her wand tip to her temple, and recalled the first section of pages in the ancient leather journal. With a gentle tug, the memory slipped from her mind and dangled, silvery and gossamer-like from her wand before she coaxed it into the bottle. Once the stopper was in place, she marked it with a small number 'one' before repeating the process with a dozen more.

When she was done, she sat back in her chair and surveyed her work. There were thirteen memories total, all recalling long sections of the journal. Hermione thought of her woefully incomplete stack of transcriptions back at the office. She'd done her best to pad the information she felt was adequate enough to show her progress without divulging anything critical.

_'Without divulging.'_

Withholding.

_Lying._

Even though she knew in her heart what must be done, a part of her needed to think things through in a logical manner. Heaving a sigh, she nodded silently to herself and pulled a notebook, quill, and a bottle of ink from the top drawer of her desk. She paused and considered, then conjured a small glass tumbler and a bottle of chilled cognac from her kitchen, pouring just enough to slowly warm in her hand as she began her list. She took a sip and blinked drowsily before shaking herself awake and dipping her quill tip into the ink.

1\. Sirius Black – status?  
2\. …

~O~

_At first there was nothing but the briefest flutter of tattered fabric against her ankle as she took one step through the archway. Even the ever-persistent rasp of whispers had fallen to an expectant hush. The silence hung as heavy and thick as the pitch-black nothingness that yawned before her, an endless mouth waiting to devour her into its void. _

_Then, that ancient cloth whispered away from the last centimetre of skin and she was all the way through. Just as so many times before, the moment the veil fell back into place, she felt herself fall into nothing. This time, however, her terror was restrained as she checked herself over. The garland of strange herbs and flowers at her neck that belonged to no phylum in 'their' plant kingdom, the silk cords at her waist and wrists that would expand and wind and weave themselves to the form most needed, the bottles of earth and water secured tightly to her belt… all of these things reminded her that she had a purpose as Hermione plummeted through the darkness like Alice down the rabbit hole._

_It started as a faint hum, a sound barely recognizable above the uneven thud and throb of her pulse hammering in her ears. The hum grew into a low, menacing drone, clear and growing closer, so different from the whispers she knew so well. As she continued her descent, the drone became steadily louder, punctuated by other sounds - vague yet ragged and jarring - until it was a roar, a sea of nonsense, dark, tortured, tortur_ous_. It was a symphony of agony and madness. _

_Hermione forced herself to breathe, to steady her sense of being and not lose herself in the grating cacophony that closed in on her ears. Again she clutched the cool glass of the bottles at her waist and fingered the blossoms around her neck. Armed as she was, the only real danger was in allowing herself to succumb to the madness swelling around her. _

_As if cued by that very thought, her feet met a solid surface and she landed with a quiet grace as though she'd merely been floating rather than falling. She had reached the next turn in her path. The thunderous noise continued to assault her in the inky black darkness, and she found herself fighting the urge to cast some kind of silencing spell as well as a _Lumos.

__No wand magic,_ a cold, brittle, inhuman voice reminded her in the back of her mind. _

__I am looking for the human, I am here for Sirius Black…_ The words formed in her head, emphatic and clear as if in silent communication to whatever this place was._

_In answer, a faint glow appeared in the endless darkness, so faint it might have been imagined. It seemed at first to flicker, until Hermione realized the flickering was due to shadows, shadows all around her. What she'd thought of as insubstantial, non-formed half-beings floating around this strange place were evidently more solid than she'd suspected. More solid - and powerfully attracted to that which was not like them. 'That' being herself, that faint glowing light in the distance, and the other human being she hoped was there in that light. _

_Hermione gasped as she felt the first brush with one of these countless beings. Its shadowy presence slithered over her skin and seeped into her spirit with an ice-like desolation. It pulled at her body and soul as if trying to feed, and it felt more frigid and hungry than anything she'd ever experienced, including the Dementors. Then again, it seared, stinging, cutting, burning hotter than Fiendfyre until she could barely breathe. Just as she became certain she couldn't bear it any longer, the presence moved on, granting her a brief moment of recovery before another one just like it took its place._

_She hesitated briefly before gritting her teeth and forcing herself to remember her mission. Steeling herself against the persistent onslaught of darkness, Hermione slowly trudged towards the source of light. With each forced step, she reminded herself of the many protective measures she'd taken, of the words Eyrith had spoken, and of the ritual she'd performed flawlessly. All that mattered now was getting Sirius out of there…_

_The light did not grow brighter as she neared it, but in fact faded slightly as if it had only served as a beacon for her. She was still able to make out the figure hunched in the corner of some make-believe wall that had been erected. Her heart stopped as she noticed the figure wasn't moving at all. Then, as it gave a sudden violent shudder, she breathed a silent exhale of relief. _

_Although the thunder of countless tortured beings was still constant around them, she could just make out a ragged murmur. It was coming unmistakably from the cavern of the body that was curled in on itself in an upright fetal position, and as Hermione tentatively leaned closer, she could make out some of the chanted words…_

__"My… uh… March… Pa-foot - Pa-foot… promise – ssss… My… March…"__

_Not thinking, she lightly touched the trembling, emaciated shoulder of the person at her feet. He jerked so violently in response that she in turn jumped back slightly._

_"MY… UH? MARCH…? PADFOOT? P-PADFOOT?" he shrieked nonsensically, over and over again, even as his empty grey eyes stared desperately at her in confusion. It was as if he couldn't stop his mouth despite the questions on his face, despite flinching and scurrying further away from her touch._

_"Sirius?" Hermione asked, her own voice sounding strangely husky and tired in her ears. _

_He gasped then and fell silent, his hands flying to his mouth as he looked away, shaking his head and mumbling incoherently. His eyes darted to her and then away several times as he rocked back and forth. _

_Hermione felt sick to her stomach. This – this creature wasn't Sirius Black, couldn't be – and yet… his ebony hair hung limply around his shoulders, and she almost recognized the tattered shreds of material that once made up the usual outfit he wore around the house so many years ago. _

__Dear gods, he's been here like this that whole time… is it any wonder?_ she thought._

_Refusing to give up hope, she crouched before the wasted wizard and touched the back of his hand, flinching a little when he jumped again. _

_"Sirius Black," she said quietly but firmly. _

_Anything else she would say was lost as a growl rolled out of his mouth, now wide with a harsh, mad grin. He leaned forward, his eyes wild, and he grabbed her hands. She glanced down and for a fleeting second she blanched as she saw the hands he held were wrinkled and covered in kidney spots – not her hands. Before she could think more on it, he laughed at her – at first a low chuckle, but quickly it crescendo'ed into a full on cackle of insanity as he pulled himself upright._

_"_Sirius Black?_" he mimicked. "SIRIUS BLACK! HA _HA!_" _

_Hermione watched in utter horror as the once cavalier and handsome Marauder danced around her in a warped sort of jig, reminding her of Rumplestiltskin or a Gringott's goblin gone terribly wrong. _

_"Sirius, please…" she said finally, standing upright herself despite oddly protesting joints. "Do you remember who I am? Harry's – your godson… I'm his friend Hermione…"_

_At this, he stopped and whirled around, his eyes narrowing dangerously. He stared at her, considering for a long moment before his face twisted briefly into a look of agony, then relaxed into resignation and something akin to peace. Suddenly, faster than she could react because it was the last thing she'd expected, his hand shot out to her waist. _

_"Sirius – no!" she cried as he twirled her wand between his fingers. _No wand magic…__

_He smirked, and his face suddenly looked the way she remembered him. She nearly gasped at how quickly the madness left his expression, replaced by a look of pained clarity and understanding. Slowly he shook his head. _

_"Better luck next time, love – yeah?" he rasped. _

_A sadness filled his silver eyes like nothing she'd ever seen, and then he was pointing her wand at his own chest. She realized too late as his mouth formed the words. Her vision was filled with a blinding green light, and then darkness as he fell into a crumpled heap before her. _

_The echoing clatter of her wand hitting the floor made her suddenly aware of the silence. _

_Hermione dropped to her knees, a sob unrolling from her chest as she laid her hands on his body. There she saw it again - _not her hands…_ old, wrinkled, the skin so thin it was translucent…_

_"I don't understand," she whispered, and inexplicably felt as though her heart was breaking. _

~O~

Hermione gasped, jumping as a cool, gentle hand clasped her shoulder, giving her a soft shake. She squinted against the blurry pale light of morning as consciousness crept in, followed by sore and stiff awareness.

"Bloody barking hell," she mumbled hoarsely as she straightened from her slumped position in the chair at her desk in the study, her neck and shoulders protesting with a painful twinge.

"You left your Floo connection open, you know," Luna softly chastised, then set two small bottles on the desk in front of Hermione. She immediately recognized them both – one was filled to the brim with a shimmering violet liquid she assumed was Luna's special recipe for a dreamless sleeping draught. The other held a single silvery wisp that seemed almost alive, similar to the thirteen that were lined in an organized row across her desk. "You should probably have a shower and eat some food before we look at that," Luna added in a subtly pointed tone.

Hermione blinked. She had been expecting to look at the memory of the Ministry Battle alone, but she supposed Luna had every right to see it. She had been the one to approach Neville for it, after all. Hermione didn't ask what explanation she had given him for breaking the unspoken pact of silence between them all regarding that night. She only hoped that Neville's Hufflepuff-like loyalty and tolerance would prevent him from telling anyone else about this. Most of all, Harry.

With a silent nod, Hermione pried herself from her desk chair with a stretch and a groan. "Thanks, Luna," she mumbled groggily.

"There's coffee already," Luna answered absently, her head tilted as her eyes wandered over Hermione's desk before they came back up to Hermione's face with a concerned look.

"You really do need to get more sleep," she said slowly. "Accidents happen to even the brightest witches and wizards when they're stretched beyond their limits. It only takes one careless oversight…"

Luna didn't finish – she didn't need to. Instead, she waved her wand, sending all thirteen phials and Hermione's notes drifting across the room to the space on one of the shelves that had been emptied for that very purpose. Another quick charm, and that very same spot of bookshelf had the sudden appearance of being occupied by a small collection of herbology texts.

"Mrs. Weasley showed me how to do apple fritters the other day," Luna said without looking at her. "I'm sure I can get them done by the time you've finished your bath."

Hermione gratefully took her cue and headed off to shower and dress. She wondered at what point had she become such a wreck that Luna Lovegood was playing mother hen to her. As she dried off and put on fresh clothes, Hermione also wondered when she would start pulling herself together again.

As anxious as she was to view Neville's memory, Luna had a point. While it was one relatively small detail she was hoping to see in that single silvery strand, that one detail was the pivot point of a major and somewhat terrifying decision. One Hermione needed to be well awake and focused to face.

Either outcome would require a retrieval, she knew that much. Dead or alive, Sirius Black did not belong on the other side of that curtain. And either way, retrieval would mean breaking more than enough policies and laws to get a person thrown into Azkaban. Nibbling at one of the still-warm confections Luna had cooked, Hermione turned over every possible worst-case scenario in her mind. Much as she hated to admit it, she secretly hoped that _if_ she got caught, some of her prestige as a war hero and Harry Potter's Best Friend would serve in her favor.

Ultimately though, it was really just a matter of what sort of preparations to make for when she pulled him from that dark and twisted place. Not to mention the very real possibility that even if Sirius was alive, he might not be conscious. She would have to work out a plan to transport a 6'3" male body without the use of her wand. And even then, she had no idea how her predecessor had gotten _out_…

A shudder swept through her as she suddenly recalled the images from her dream.

She knew, had known even as she'd dreamt, that it was nothing more than her mind working through the culmination of notes she'd read in the journal mixed with her own personal anxieties. The person who'd kept the journal – the only person in recorded history who'd been through that archway and returned – had in the end declared 'her' (Hermione had decided days ago without any reason other than instinct that it was a witch) mission a failure, a complete loss. The descriptions of what she had seen were erratic and abstract. Broken and jumbled phrases filled the last few pages of the ancient leather tome when everything up to that point had been so neat and precisely organized.

'Madness,' her predecessor had written. Madness, agony, and in the end, a tragedy that could have been prevented had anyone bothered to research more on the archway than they had in the decades prior to her work. Apparently the person she'd gone to retrieve had been left in there for thirty years or more.

'No hope,' she'd written finally, and Hermione had practically felt the anger, frustration, and loss emanating from the quill strokes on the aged parchment.

Hermione hadn't dared hope for – well, for anything up to this point. She'd been deliberately avoiding any 'what ifs' as much as possible, sticking to research and organizing the facts she had been piecing together. And now, as she threw back the last dregs of her coffee and looked up at Luna's ever-serene expression, she knew the time had come to face those 'what ifs' head on. Her stomach gave an unpleasant turn of nervousness, which she fought back with a deep breath and a hard swallow.

"Shall we?" Luna asked with a tilt of her head in the direction of Hermione's study.

Nodding, Hermione stood. "Why do you want to, though?" she asked finally.

Luna quirked an eyebrow at her and gave a small smile. "It's always best to have as much information as possible when setting out on a mission or plan, don't you think?"

"Luna…" Hermione had already made up her mind that this was something she had to do alone. She would not and could not risk getting her friend in as much trouble as she herself was courting.

"I remember how Harry was so determined to go to the Ministry alone that night. It was very brave of him… But not very smart," Luna said offhandedly over her shoulder, already walking back down the short hallway to Hermione's office.

With a resigned sigh, Hermione followed her friend, her point well taken. As usual with the soft-spoken blonde witch, it was what she _didn't_ say that had the greatest impact. This wasn't about missions or plans or adventures. Neither had it been that day in their fifth year. It was about friendship and looking after one another whether you wanted to be looked after or not.

A slant of mid morning sunlight cut through the slit between the closed curtains in the study, glancing across the edge of Hermione's desk and bouncing off of the shining surface of the pensieve resting there. The light reflected and danced over the ceiling briefly before disappearing as Hermione slid the heavy stone bowl to the center where both she and Luna could use it.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione unstopped the small glass phial and tilted it over the bowl. Both witches watched quietly as the silvery tendril curled and slid out of the tiny bottle. It slipped across the surface, cloudy against clear, then disappeared without so much as a ripple into the Serum of Anamnesis.

Hermione's brown eyes met Luna's pale blue ones. With a look of silent agreement, they both lowered their faces to the bowl.

_ "You are not in a position to bargain, Potter. You see, there are ten of us and only one of you…or hasn't Dumbledore ever taught you how to count?" Lucius Malfoy's voice rang out below them, smug and sneering as he regarded a young Harry Potter standing on the stone dais in the Death Chamber. _

_Hermione and Luna glanced at each other before turning their gazes to the scene before them. _

_"He's dot alone!" Neville's voice rang loud and clear from just behind them. "He's still god be!"_

_Hermione gasped silently in shock at the peculiar sensation of seeing Neville's image pass right through her body before he went scrambling down stone benches towards the small crowd of Death Eaters below. She and Luna followed suit, their footsteps mute and their presence unnoticed. _

_"Neville – no – go back to Ron - "_

_"STUBEFY! STUBEFY! STUBE - " Neville's impotent attempts to attack were cut off by one of the largest Death Eaters who grabbed him from behind. _

_"It's Longbottom, isn't it?" Lucius turned to Neville with a hateful curl of his lip. "Well, your grandmother is used to losing family members to our cause… Your death will not come as a great shock…"_

_Hermione watched, still somewhat amazed at how young Neville and Harry looked. They were just children…_

_"Longbottom?"_

_A feeling colder than ice water shot down Hermione's spine at the sound of that familiar voice. Shrill and taunting and ever on the brink of cracking into maniacal laughter or shrieks – Bellatrix LeStrange. _

_"Why, I have had the pleasure of meeting your parents, boy…"_

_Hermione felt Luna's hand grasp her own. If she could have, she would have smiled at the gesture. However, she was frozen in horror and fear at the sight of her once torturer rounding on the teenaged boy whose arms were still pinned by the much larger Death Eater. She stood motionless, watching the scene unfold before them. She felt a surge of pride at how Neville stood up for himself, refusing to give up even when facing the tip of Bellatrix's wand. _

_Then she flinched, feeling her gut twist as the chamber was filled with Neville's screams when the Crutiatus curse found its mark. She couldn't look, couldn't bear the sight of the agony she herself had once withstood. _

_A squeeze of her hand drew her attention back to the scene. When she opened her eyes, it was to see a slew of familiar faces – Kingsley, Mad Eye Moody, Tonks, Remus Lupin, and Sirius. Hermione's heart leapt at the sight of their lost Order members. She wanted to pause everything, to run up and stand face to face with her former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, to inspect the way Lupin and Tonks worked with and around each other, gracefully synced. But all too quickly the room descended into mayhem, lights of multiple colors flashing all around them from everyone's wand tips. _

_"There," Luna whispered, nodding to one of the doorways across the room. _

_Hermione's heart was pounding as they made their way over to where Bellatrix was flinging off curses. The final duel had not yet begun, but by the time they reached the wild eyed witch, Dumbledore had appeared, rounding up what Death Eaters remained from the ones that had escaped. _

_A snarl escaped lips that slanted into a feral grin before Bellatrix darted off along the tier towards the next door – not to escape, but to better position herself for the standoff against her cousin. _

_"Come on, you can do better than that!" Sirius' voice echoed around the room, aggressive yet still laced with that arrogant laughter Hermione always remembered so well about him. _

_And there it was, the knowing, triumphant smirk a split second before the silent curse was thrown. A flash of light shot from Bellatrix's wand tip, finding its mark square in the center of Sirius Black's chest, knocking him backwards before he disappeared into the tattered folds of that godforsaken curtain. _

_A flash of light that was not green, but red._

__

Hermione took a long, deep drag of air as she "resurfaced" once the memory reached its end. Her throat was tight with strangled sobs, her eyes wet and her heart heavy at the pain she felt witnessing her best friend's loss. When she looked up from the pensieve, Luna was watching her with huge eyes, expectant yet just as placid as ever.

_Sirius Black wasn't dead…_

Well, at least he wasn't when he fell in, Hermione thought. She had guessed as much, really – Bellatrix LeStrange was not one to use _Avada Kedavra_ unless Voldemort commanded it. She enjoyed toying with her victims all too much, and Sirius Black would probably have been a real treat to have added to her collection of playthings. Hermione imagined that Sirius' descent into the archway might have even been a disappointment to his demented cousin, had it not served as so much psychological torment for Harry Potter…

"It is rather surprising how little the Department of Mysteries seems to know about that archway," Luna said casually.

Hermione licked her lips and frowned before coming to a decision.

"Luna," she said slowly, "What do you know of the Aos Sí?"


	4. The Aos Sí

  
_~Chapter 3~_

_"What do you know of the Aos Sí?"_

It was almost a rhetorical question.

For all of the seemingly made-up magical creatures she'd talked of in their youth, Luna's knowledge of rare and obscure magical beings was more extensive than anyone Hermione knew, including Rubeus Hagrid. Before they'd been tapped for the Department of Mysteries, Luna had been an integral part of the Ministry's research division of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures department.

The shocked and wary look in her wide, pale-blue eyes as Luna sank down into the chair across from Hermione confirmed her knowledge. Both witches knew enough folklore of the _Tuatha Dé Danaan_, the _daoine sì_, and even the catchall notion of the "Fae," to know that most of it was just that - folklore. Centuries of superstitions had blended with the murky and frightfully complex mythologies of the British Isles, leaving so little factual evidence that it was all usually lumped together under that one heading and neatly pushed aside.

But folklore and fairy tales always had some vein of truth in them, Hermione had long ago learned. Sometimes it was a matter of the common turned supernatural through generations of retelling. Other times… well, other times the 'vein of truth' was more literal than anyone dared dream. She knew only too well how things like Hallows could sit for ages, safely hidden in the guise of a harmless fable.

And, over the last couple of days as she'd finished translating the journal, Hermione had come to realize and accept that there were truths that ran even deeper and darker than those she'd seen in her eighteenth year. Unfortunately, the tome had only left her hints, an infuriating trail of breadcrumbs leading into a forest of ancient and vague myths.

She hadn't wanted to admit it at first, but ultimately she knew she needed Luna's help. Under different circumstances, pride would have compelled her to research endlessly on her own until she found the information she needed. But given the sheer volume of convoluted histories, speculated folk tales, and tangled mythoi of separate but closely related cultures, 'endlessly' might not be an exaggeration. There was simply too much at stake and not enough time.

"The _Aos Sí_ are considered to be a _mythical_ race," Luna began slowly, her cautious gaze never leaving Hermione's face. The way she emphasized her words made clear she was speaking very distinctly of that single race, as if it were separate from the countless other names thrown around.

Hermione waited for the follow-up babble of information that usually accompanied her friend's assessment of a rare species. When it didn't come, she forced a small smile of encouragement. "But there are a lot of creatures that are _considered_ to be mythical…" she said expectantly.

With a slight shake of her head, Luna explained, "Not mythical like _that_ \- mythical in the way Dionysus, Eros, Hecate or even the Christians' God or Satan are mythical. There are no reports of anyone ever having actually _seen_ them, Hermione. None." Her tone was uncharacteristically somber.

"You're telling me the Aos Sí are gods?" Hermione pressed.

"Not exactly," Luna answered. "There are only theories, and very few non-folklore texts that even mention them. But the one common theme is that they may be a sort of guardian of the dead, or 'Keepers of the Afterlife.' If that book of yours says something about them…" She tilted her head warily.

'That book of hers' actually said very little of the Aos Sí specifically. But what it did say, combined with what Luna had just divulged, was more than enough to give Hermione pause. Slowly sinking into her chair, she considered her situation. Part of her felt an overwhelming amount of guilt and worry over the countless policies she'd already so blatantly disregarded. That was the part of her that screamed to keep quiet, to not drag one of her best friends down with her. Logic, however, sided with her instincts this time. She couldn't do this alone. And Luna could not only be trusted, but she was the one person Hermione knew who had the knowledge and intelligence needed to help her. Even if she hadn't been a fellow Unspeakable, Hermione might have found a way to enlist her help. Not to mention, should something happen to her in the process of trying to retrieve Sirius, it would be wise to make sure someone knew where she'd gone.

"Luna," she finally began carefully, "if I tell you…"

"…it could mean both our jobs," Luna finished calmly. After a brief pause she added, "Ministry work is safe – stable, but I don't think I'd want to spend the rest of my life working there."

Chewing her lip slightly, Hermione nodded. Deciding to jump in feet first, she took a deep breath. "The journal I've been translating belonged to a former Unspeakable," she began. "Apparently she worked in the Death Chamber, studying the archway a long time ago."

Luna looked unsurprised as she gave a single, slow nod. "How much have you put to paper?" she asked.

Looking down at her hands, Hermione muttered, "Just enough." It really didn't sit well with her that she was being so…well, _sneaky_. In a perfect world, she could simply take her findings to Tages. She could just explain to him that not only was the archway a stolen artefact belonging to the Aos Sí, but that its current location and 'ownership' was hindering its function of dispersing misguided souls to the afterlife. In a perfect world, she could inform her boss that a live, unjustly persecuted man was currently trapped on the other side of that archway. And, in a perfect world, there would either be someone with enough intelligence and talent to retrieve Sirius Black and return the archway to its rightful owners, or Tages would simply let her do it.

Of course, the world was far from perfect, and the Ministry of Magic even less so. The fact that the Department of Mysteries had been holding a stolen object for so long without any question or accountability was proof enough of that. But the general attitude that they were there only to 'study and observe' rather than actually _doing_ anything with the many wonderful and strange items in the department… Hermione shook her head at the thought. No, this was one time when the right thing to do was actually the _wrong_ thing. She pushed her guilty conscience aside and looked back up to see Luna watching her patiently.

"_Dis Paternus Ianua,_" Hermione said, "or _Dis Pater's_ Doorway, belongs to the Aos Sí."

"God of the afterlife," Luna remarked softly.

With a nod, Hermione continued, "According to the journal, the archway is supposed to serve as some kind of holding area. When people die, sometimes the transition isn't exactly smooth -- "

"The Grey Lady once explained to me," Luna interrupted in a thoughtful tone, "that when a person chooses not to go on, either consciously or unconsciously, they are stuck wandering the earth in shade form. That's not all of them, though. Part of their spirit gets anchored to the physical plane while another part lingers in the in-between…"

"So you think that's what this archway is?" Hermione asked. The book really didn't say much more than what she'd told Luna.

"Well, I wouldn't imagine that's all," came Luna's response. "I'm certain ghosts aren't the only ones whose transitions get muddled or stuck. People who die very sudden or violent deaths - oh! And that's not even accounting for those souls lost to forces like the Dementors. And there's also Infiri – I've read that part of the magic behind them involves calling forth a fragment of their souls. And that's just here in Britain – I'm sure there are countless ways people have gotten a bit stuck. But… you're saying they're all kept in this archway?"

Hermione sighed, her stomach tightening at the thought. "Well, from what I understand, it seems like the original purpose of Dis Paternus Ianua was to serve as a literal doorway. There's not much more in the journal by way of details, but I think it was once used to guide those 'stuck' spirits onward."

"Like opening all of the windows and doors when someone dies," Luna said brightly. "It clears the path for the dead to move on."

"Right. Only, no one has done that since the archway was stolen from the Aos Sí however many years ago," Hermione answered, her voice conveying every bit of dread she felt at the idea. The other side of that veil was theoretically filled with these 'stuck' spirits – souls that were too confused, traumatized, or worse, to move on to the afterlife. And Sirius was stuck there right along with them.

"Oh," Luna said. The single word was filled with understanding. After a long silence, she spoke up once more. "Well, it's a good thing we know someone's gone in and come back out again. Now we just have to find out how."

And there was the crux of the matter. Apart from the few lines revealed in the journal, neither Luna nor Hermione had ever come across anything more than folklore on these magical beings. Normally she would be jumping at the excuse to bury herself in more research, but there just wasn't time. Eventually it would start looking suspicious that Hermione was making such trivial progress on her assignment. And Merlin only knew what Sirius was going through while they tried to figure it out. If her nightmares and the journal's abstract recounting of its owner's experiences were any indication…

Hermione shuddered involuntarily.

"Between Hogwarts and the Black Library, there's plenty we could research," she said half-heartedly, shaking her head. "But who knows how long that could take?"

"Well," Luna replied, her eyes thoughtfully fixed on her fingers as she played with a small wire sculpture of a woman in graduates' robes on Hermione's desk. "Of course most folk tales have some basis in fact," she said, echoing her earlier thoughts. "We simply _choose_ to dismiss them because it's folklore. Everyone has a little superstition they follow, though. Some more than others, even if they're not taken very seriously."

"You've heard of a superstition about a Veil of Death?" Hermione couldn't keep her old skepticism from creeping back into her voice. The prospect of it being that simple was too optimistic even for her friend.

Raising an eyebrow, Luna smiled softly. "I imagine only the Aos Sí could tell you how to get in and out, if you could just manage to meet one of them," she answered with that innocent lilt that no longer fooled Hermione. "And there _are_ tales and legends of how to do _that_."

Hermione hummed. "_Countless_ tales and legends," she agreed with a note of frustration. She really didn't relish the idea of going through each and every one of them.

"Of course, if only you knew someone with ties to the old magics…" Luna said with feigned casualness. "They'd probably be Irish or Welsh, maybe Scottish. But I'd bet on Irish…"

A pained sigh escaped Hermione, and she grimaced. The thought had been niggling at the back of her mind ever since she'd translated the parts in the journal about the Aos Sí. She'd repeatedly pushed it away, however, not wanting to face the idea of ever seeing Katie Finnigan again, much less asking for her help.

"Oh! How about Seamus Finnigan's mum?" Luna continued innocently, although the slight curve of her lips betrayed her.

"Right," Hermione grumbled unhappily, sinking down into her chair.

"I'm sure she's forgotten the whole thing. And besides, it's for a good cause…"

"Right," Hermione said again. She silently vowed that if she ever got Sirius Black out of the Veil, she'd make both him and Harry pay handsomely.

~o~

"Well, well, well, look what the cat drug in!"

The familiar brogue that called out from the darkness held no trace of animosity, much to Hermione's relief. She blinked several times, letting her eyes adjust from the glaring mid-day sunshine to the dimly lit interior before stepping down into the pub. _His_ pub.

A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as she settled her gaze on the sandy-haired wizard behind the bar. She couldn't help but admire the way the muscles in his shoulders and arms moved as he continued wiping down the glass surface of the bar top. Even though it was cold enough outside to need her navy blue pea coat, he looked perfectly comfortable in faded denim jeans and a black, tight fitting tank top.

_Then again, he always was hot-natured,_ Hermione recalled with a wry smirk.

"Hermione, love," he said with a grin just this side of suggestive. "Been ages, yeah? What on Morrigan's green earth brings ya to these parts, now?" He reached over his head for a glass, flipping it nimbly in his hand and setting it before him, gesturing to the barstool with a nod.

"Hi, Seamus," Hermione finally said, shrugging out of her coat and folding it over her shoulder bag before setting it on the stool next to hers. As she sat down, she couldn't help but smile fondly at her former classmate as he began pouring her drink.

Of the three men she'd been with in her three and a half years of "adult experience," Seamus Finnigan was the favourite that had caught her by surprise. Of course, that number was skewed by one in either direction; Ron didn't count when it came to actual sex, and Seamus didn't count when it came to an actual relationship. No, after her rather disastrous fallout with Viktor Krum, Seamus had simply been 'fun.' He'd been Hermione's one foray into the concept of no-strings-attached, no romance, no 'L-word' or thoughts of the future, flat-out, physically gratifying _fun_.

It had started quite unexpectedly at Draco Malfoy's carefully planned New Years Eve soiree that winter. Still emotionally sore and sorry from her breakup with Viktor the previous fall, Hermione had wanted nothing more than to celebrate the holidays in seclusion, far away from the public eye. Kingsley and McGonagall wouldn't have it, however. All Order members had been expected to attend the Malfoy party in an attempt to help reinforce their double agent's image of the last Malfoy 'dutifully following in his father's footsteps.' Draco had made a big, smarmy deal out of the event being a "coming together of old rivals to bring in the new era" or some such rubbish. It really had been quite brilliant, Hermione had to grudgingly admit. Even though she'd spent the evening trying to avoid reporters and most of her friends who'd been blissfully coupled up with someone at the time.

That was how she'd quite literally stumbled into Seamus' company that night, having snuck off to the first unlocked door she could find on the third floor of the newly renovated manor. He'd greeted her the exact same way then. Of course, his words had been slightly slurred and his brogue markedly thicker from the bottle of whiskey dangling between his fingers.

_"Well, well – look what the cat drug in. If you're looking fer the libr'y, pet, it's two doors down." _

Prior to that, the last time Hermione had seen Seamus had been the morning after the final battle at Hogwarts. They'd never had much in common despite growing up together within the walls of the Gryffindor common room. Truth be told, they still had little in common, other than the fact that both had been without someone to snog at the toll of midnight.

One kiss had lead to another, then another, until half their clothes were strewn across the cold hardwood floor, some dangling from the back of an expensive-looking leather chair. Between kisses and nips, Seamus had finally suggested they adjourn either to a public area where they'd be forced to come to their senses, or to someplace with more comfortable furniture. Hermione had grinned sheepishly into Seamus' blue eyes and admitted it was probably a terrible idea, "but…"

And so, amidst breathless laughter while stumbling back into their clothes, they'd agreed to ring in the new millennium with a night of properly drunken debauchery.

Their "fling" had lasted intermittently for a couple of months. 'Friends with benefits,' Seamus had called it. Hermione saw it more as a mutual partnership, an agreement between two people to provide unattached pleasure and unadulterated fun. They were completely incompatible in all other ways, so there had been no risk at all of getting emotionally involved. Plus, it had served to ease the loneliness and to 'cleanse her palate' after Viktor.

Unfortunately, it had taken a painfully embarrassing incident to remind Hermione that there _was_ such a thing as "too much fun." In fact, it had been that very bar top upon which she'd been wantonly sprawled for the blonde Irishman when his mother had walked in on them.

Katie Finnigan had paid an unexpected morning visit to the pub Seamus had recently inherited from his grandfather to 'check on developments.' Upon seeing her son and 'some scarlet little trollup defacing her pap's lifelong work,' she had very nearly destroyed the place in an indignant rage.

It hadn't helped matters, either, when Seamus had tried to properly introduce Hermione to his mother days later. Between the stories in the Daily Prophet and Seamus' own accounts of his seventh year at Hogwarts, Mrs. Finnigan had already made her mind up about her. The whole incident had been sobering enough for Hermione to end her little trysts with Seamus altogether and pull her focus back to more serious matters in life. He'd accused her of overreacting, of regressing back to the stuck-up, prim and proper bookworm from their school years. This of course had only reinforced to her the need to end their 'arrangement' immediately.

After an awkward silence, Hermione blurted, "You cut your hair." He'd always kept it shoulder-length or longer, but now it was neatly trimmed above his ears. The clean-cut look was flattering on him.

Seamus' grin widened and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah – Lavender's been keeping it short. Says I look more like a 'man' with it short, less like a snot nosed kid."

"Things are going well with her, then?" Hermione had heard through Ginny that Seamus had started dating the comely brunette a few months back. They seemed to be a well-suited couple.

His blue eyes narrowed in consideration. "Yeah, they're goin' real well," he said quietly before pushing her drink toward her. "S'pose this ain' just a social call though, is it, pet?"

Hermione glanced down at her drink and frowned at the gold shimmering liquid. "What is it?" she asked.

"That? It's a new little acquisition I picked up from a fellow up north." Seamus nodded smugly. "Taste it – it's fairy-made."

At this, Hermione's eyebrows practically shot up into her hairline for a full five seconds. Then, the irony struck her full on and she erupted into peals of nearly hysterical laughter. Not that the fairies really had _anything_ to do with the Aos Sí, but a great deal Muggle folklore did tie the legendary little winged creatures to the old myths. Of course, as far as Muggles were concerned, none of it was real, anyway.

Finally she wiped the tears from her eyes as Seamus waited, his arms crossed over his broad chest and a glower growing on his face. "I – I'm sorry," she gasped. "It's – it's a long story. F-fairy made, you say? How on earth did you manage _that_?"

He softened a little and shrugged. "Friend up near Belfast's been tryin' to 'commune' with them for years. Finally managed to do somethin' I guess, enough to convince a few they could gain a bit of respect by contributin' to human commerce," he said with a wry twist of his mouth. "Sent me a case from his first batch to try out."

"And you want to test it on me?" Hermione asked, suspiciously pushing the small glass away from her.

"Why did you come?" Seamus asked abruptly. "Yeh don' look well, Hermione," he added with a note of concern.

Straightening her back defensively, she opened her mouth to argue, but stopped herself. "I need to speak to your mother," she finally answered after a brief pause.

It was Seamus' turn to laugh now. "You're having me on, right? Here – now I _know_ you need this," he said and pushed the glass of golden liquid back to Hermione.

"I mean it, Seamus." Her voice was hard now. As loath as she was to do this, it had to be done, so she was impatient to just get it over with. "You of all people know I wouldn't ask unless I absolutely had no other choice."

"Why ask?" he retorted, leaning casually against the counter behind him. "You know where me Mam lives."

Hermione cringed. "I was… hoping you'd go with me?"

Seamus looked at her for a long moment, then nodded at the glass of fairy mead. "Drink," he said. "We'll need to wait for my crew to arrive, then I can take yeh."

"I'd like Luna to come along as well," she added in a rush, reaching for the drink.

With another nod, he said, "'s probably not a bad idea. Luna's always good for takin' the edge off, or at least confusin' folks enough to keep 'em from reactin' too much. Now, drink."

The taste reminded her of sunshine, strawberries, and honey, with an undercurrent of fire. Before she knew it, her tongue was licking the last drops of the drink from her lips. A warm, pleasant flush filled her body, starting from her stomach and radiating outward to her fingers and toes, but it was unlike the usual warmth one got from regular alcohol. In fact, if anything, Hermione felt suddenly sharper, more alert, as if the whole world was in her control. At the same time, she felt light and carefree, like everything was about to suddenly go her way. It was complex and wonderful, and heady as hell. She looked up at Seamus to find him smiling at her knowingly.

"Matt tells me it has properties similar to-"

"Felix Felicis," Hermione interrupted. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she should be worried. She should be telling Seamus off for keeping something so dangerous and potentially illicit at his bar. But that didn't seem important enough now, not when she had to contact Luna and go visit that lovely, lovely woman Katie Finnigan.

"Now, it's not the exact same thing," Seamus warned. "So don't you be goin' off half-cocked, alright? Me Mam's still got it in for yeh, and whatever it is you'll be askin' her, I wouldn't expect naught less than a hard talkin' down, if yer lucky."

Hermione shushed him before conjuring possibly the brightest Patronus she'd ever managed, sending it off with a swish of her wand to deliver her message to Luna.

~o~

Hermione headed the trio as they walked the winding path from their Apparition point to the low, stone wall surrounding an old but tidy cottage in the wizarding village of Belmere. She'd only ever been to Seamus' childhood home once, having accompanied him there on a brief detour to pick up a few belongings during their short-lived affair. His mother had barely paid her a spare glance at the time, but that had been before their mortifying run-in.

"Wait," Seamus said, stopping her mid-gesture as she reached for the front gate. "Better let me," he murmured with a nervous grin, flipping the latch and pushing inward. Hermione felt the barely perceptible, indescribable shimmer of some kind of magical ward allowing her passage as she stepped onto the little stone path leading to Mrs. Finnigan's doorstep. A twinge of apprehension slowed her pace enough to allow Seamus to make his way ahead of her. By the time they reached the slightly faded blue door, apprehension was quickly swelling into dread in the pit of Hermione's stomach. As Seamus reached for the doorknob, a sudden knot of panic prompted Hermione to grab his arm. He gave her a questioning look over his shoulder before understanding dawned in his light blue eyes.

"Told yeh not to get too cocky," he said with a smirk. "Sure you still want to do this, then?"

Just as quickly, Hermione released Seamus' arm and she scowled. "Of course I do," she answered sharply, reminding herself of why she was there.

"Very well," he sighed, and opened the door.

"Ma?" he called out. "Brought someone to see ya…"

"Seamus!" Katie Finnigan exclaimed from the kitchen. A moment later, a tall, reedy woman with fading blonde hair swept up into a messy bun emerged. She wiped her wet hands on a towel as she rushed to the door to greet her son. "Who have we – oh. Oh," she said again. Her thin mouth puckered unpleasantly as her eyes fell on Hermione, narrowing in anger. "No."

"Ma --" Seamus began, but was cut off.

"I said no, Seamus!" The older woman's voice quickly rose in volume. "You turn yourself right around and don' you be bringin' that – that…"

"Ma, she came to ask for your help," he tried to explain.

"Mrs. Finnigan, believe me – I can't apologize enough for--" Hermione tried to interject.

"You're damn right yeh can't apologize enough! Out with yeh, harlot!" Katie Finnigan was nearly screeching now, her face beginning to turn red.

Hermione, however, would not be deterred. She'd made it this far, and she needed that information. Just as she opened her mouth, however, an elderly but amused voice crackled from the doorway of the kitchen.

"'Ere now – what's all this hollerin' about? Ooh Shay, me boy! C'mere and kiss yer old Gran!" The grey-haired old woman hobbled into the room and beckoned to Seamus, who quickly rushed to his grandmother's side. "And who'll be these two pretty young lasses?" she asked, and cackled as Seamus hooked his arm around her waist.

"They were just _leaving,_" Mrs. Finnigan answered in a dangerous tone.

"Leavin' even though they brought you no harm and are needin' help? That ain't the way I raised you, Katie McAllister Finnigan," the older woman scolded.

"Brought me no harm, did they?" Katie Finnigan said with a self-righteous laugh. "Oh no, no harm at all, other'n _defiling_ Pappy's bar top, legs spread like a common little slut!"

"_Mam!_" Seamus protested, his freckled face turning red with embarrassment and anger.

"Oh, is that all?" The crone let out another cackle as she eased herself down into a well-worn armchair. "Not like it'd be the first time – how the hell d'you think yeh came to be in this world, child? 'Tweren't the first time then, either – soon as me darlin' Owen took over the pub closings from his Pap, it was the only place we could get any privacy 'til we saved enough to move out from his parents. Ah, that bar saw a number of interestin' positions--"

"_Máthair!_"

"_Gran!_"

Katie and Seamus' gasps were simultaneous, although the former was far more appalled than the latter. Seamus seemed to be fighting back an amused grin with some effort, where his mother had gone nearly pale with horror.

"Well, you're the one was goin' on about it so!" The old woman said with a wicked grin as she picked up a pipe from the ashtray on the side table.

Seamus visibly swallowed back a laugh as he turned to his former classmates. "Hermione, Luna, I'd like you to meet my grandmother, Eleanor McAllister. Gran, this is Luna Lovegood and Hermione Granger."

Eleanor's eyes widened just a fraction before narrowing shrewdly on the young witches. "Call me Eleanor. Suppose it comes as no surprise that I've heard of yeh," she said to Hermione, tapping her pipe several times against the ancient looking clay dish to empty out the contents. "But since my daughter seems to have forgotten herself, why don't you tell _me_ what you're here for."

Mrs. Finnigan gave a huff of protest and grumbled under her breath before shuffling back into the kitchen.

"An' tea would be nice!" Eleanor shouted over her shoulder with a grin.

Just as she turned back to the trio, however, a faint buzzing sound emitted from Seamus' pocket.

"Damn!" he muttered as he pulled out a coin that looked remarkably similar to the Dumbledore's Army galleons Hermione had charmed in their fifth year. "That's Lavender. I'm supposed to be meeting her for robe fittings – some kind of fancy to-do with the Patils this weekend." He turned to Hermione with a sheepish look. "Sorry, love – Gran'll keep yeh safe from me Mam, though. Alright?"

Before Hermione could even reply, he was ducking into the fireplace with a handful of floo powder.

"Thanks!" Hermione called out. She couldn't quite keep the sarcasm out of her voice as she watched her friend disappear in a blur of green flames. It was probably just as well, of course; while she'd been resigned to discuss the Aos Sí in front of Seamus, she really preferred to limit the number of people who knew what she was up to at this point.

"Now, then," Eleanor said as she packed her pipe with a fresh wad of something Hermione wasn't entirely confident was simple tobacco. "What brings a pair of brilliant young war heroes like yourselves to our quaint little corner of Ireland?"

Hermione took a moment to regard Seamus' grandmother. There was something so self-assured about the old woman, beyond what she'd seen in most other elderly witches and wizards. Eleanor McAllister had an air to her as if she held some power and wisdom that went far beyond the common, just hidden and tucked safely beyond her tongue and back teeth. It vaguely reminded Hermione of Dumbledore, to tell the truth. Something told her if anyone knew of the Aos Sí, it would be her. Before Hermione could speak up, Katie Finnigan entered from the kitchen again, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. The friendly gesture was contradicted by her words, however.

"Aye, right heroic of yeh, runnin' off to God knows where with that Potter and Weasley, while your friends and classmates spent the year tortured by Death Eaters at that school," she bit out nastily.

A flush crept up Hermione's neck and her head felt tingly with a surge of adrenaline at Mrs. Finnigan's words. She'd known there had been whispers after the war, people murmuring exact same thought, just out of earshot. It had taken half her seventh year before she could walk the halls of Hogwarts without someone giving her that hard, accusing stare. But no one had dared to say it outright – not even Malfoy. Her breath felt frozen in her chest as the cozy little room fell silent except for the terse clink of the tea tray being set on the coffee table. A very soft, subtle touch of fingers against her leg made her blink and inhale.

"We all did what we had to." Luna's voice was soft and cool as falling snow. "Did you know, my own father even tried to turn Harry, Ron, and Hermione over to the Death Eaters? Hermione's a Muggle-born. I'm sure you're aware of what they did to Muggle-borns. She could have left the country, but she stayed and helped her friend survive long enough to do what he had to, even withstanding the _Crutiatus_ at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange."

Hermione was speechless as she looked at her friend. It was the first time she'd ever seen Luna display any real anger, and although the placid blonde witch still spoke with her trademark gentleness, her words held a cold edge of warning.

As if sensing Hermione's shock, Luna cast her a brief smile. "I always wondered why you weren't in Ravenclaw, until that day," she said before turning back to the two older witches. "There's nothing heroic about war. It's just something people – in our case, _children_ \- are forced to do when other people can't seem to look or care beyond their own viewpoints and circumstances."

With those last words, Luna's gaze landed pointedly on Katie Finnigan, whose mouth opened and closed fish-like. Before she could think of a retort, Eleanor spoke up.

"Lovegood – you're Xeno and Lianna's child," she said suddenly. "Thought I recognized you. Look just like your mother, you do, girl."

The anger immediately seemed to drain from Luna's body at this. "You knew her?"

"Aye," the old woman answered as she held her pipe between her teeth and lit its contents. She gave a couple quick puffs of bluish tinged smoke before continuing, "Lianna apprenticed with me for potions after she finished school. Bloody genius she was, always comin' up with new techniques and ideas. Bit more of a temper than you, I think. Katie my love, either sit down or go make yourself useful somewhere you won't be offendin' no one else, aye?" she added with a raised eyebrow at her own daughter, who was now standing with her hands on her hips and an indignant purse to her mouth.

Mrs. Finnigan finally gave a huff and plopped down into the other armchair next to her mother. She scowled as she filled the four cups with tea before taking her own, but she didn't say another word.

"Always wondered how you'd turn out with naught but that batty father of yours to raise yeh," Eleanor went on. "You know he harassed me for years about that damned crinkle horned whatsit…"

"Of course!" Luna softly exclaimed. "I should have remembered your name – you're the only known witness to the Crumple Horned Snorkack. Father said you refused to go on record, though."

"Course I refused," Eleanor said with a snort. "Only one of its kind left in the world, and it wanted to be left alone. Humans meddle far too much with species they ought not even know. The _Escharactum Vilkovarum_ was a distant relative of the dragon family – a genetic disaster, ultimately. It was a simple matter of evolution that it had to die out. Publicizing its existence would have only prolonged that."

Hermione's heart sank. Hearing Seamus' grandmother go on about this creature she was still certain was either completely fictional or a simple deformity of a normal, everyday dragon was bad enough. But her words resounded like a bell of discouragement: _Humans meddle far too much with species they ought not even know…_

"But of course, that's not why you came here, is it?" Eleanor asked with perfect timing.

All eyes fell on Hermione and she swallowed nervously. "Erm, no, it isn't," she admitted. "Mrs. McAllister – I mean _Eleanor_, I came to ask you – well, Mrs. Finnigan actually, but either of you -- "

"We have questions about the Aos Sí," Luna interrupted.

Katie Finnigan smirked, but Eleanor's eyebrows shot up and she sat back in her seat, eyeing the two young witches in consideration. "What about them?" she asked slowly.

"Well, you see," Hermione began, her confidence from the fairy mead having long worn off, "of course there are countless legends and myths, but sifting through all of those would take too long, and since there's no recorded accounts of humans who have actually seen them, there's no guarantee that any information we'd find in our research would be correct, and, well…" she stopped and took a breath as she realized she was babbling. When no one responded, she took a deep breath. "What I mean is, I need to know how to find, or – or summon, or visit the Aos Sí," she said finally.

Mrs. Finnigan gave a snort that erupted into harsh laughter. "Darlin'," she gasped after a good minute, "if yer lookin' for a death sentence, you didn't have to come all the way out here for it."

Hermione looked at the older witch expectantly. Eleanor simply frowned and shook her head. "You don' go _visitin'_ with the Aos Sí, child. What in Morgana's name would you be askin' such a thing for?"

"Please – I know it sounds outlandish, but there must be a way." She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice and struggled for a rational approach. "I know what they are, and I know it's dangerous, but surely --"

"If you know what they are, then you already know why it's not possible," the old woman said.

"Nothing is impossible," Luna corrected softly.

"I've heard enough of this nonsense," Mrs. Finnigan grumbled, pulling herself up out of her chair. "Batty, insolent little fools… Mother, it looks as though you've found yourself good enough company for the afternoon. I have a garden to tend to."

Hermione waited until she heard the door from the kitchen to the garden fall shut before turning to Seamus' grandmother again. "_Please_, Mrs. McAllister," she said again. "Yes, I know what it means, but a man's life depends on this."

"All the more reason I am telling you no," Eleanor replied. "The Aos Sí _are death_, love. If you're lookin' to bring someone back…"

"They're the _guardians_ of the Afterlife," Hermione argued. "And he's not dead." She knew she was probably making little sense at this point, but she was pleased to see that her words gave the old woman pause.

"Explain."

"I – I can't." Hermione cringed. "It's a matter of utmost secrecy, and --"

"And what you're askin' me to give you isn't?" Eleanor interrupted. "To go to the Aos Sí is to take Persephone's walk, child. Even if they were _kind_ enough to let you come back, there are too many risks, too much that we don't understand. Keepers of Death, aye, but also keepers of Time, and there's no tellin' what you'll be foolin' with if you go there. There's no account of mortals witnessing them, because those who have tried have never returned."

_That's not true,_ she wanted to respond, but couldn't. Instead, she carefully worded an explanation in the hopes of persuading the old woman. Clearly they had come to the right place, or Eleanor would simply have told her she didn't know and sent her on her way.

"Alright," Hermione said calmly. "We know they're the guardians of the afterlife. But there's a man – a good and innocent man – who fell into their realm several years ago. Into the – the _in-between_. I know for a fact that he wasn't dead when he fell, and I also know that where he is, he's trapped – neither able to return to the living, nor pass on to death. And unless someone saves him, he'll stay trapped there forever, along with innumerable other souls who have been separated from the Aos Sí's care."

Eleanor simply gaped at Hermione in horrified silence.

"_Please_," she said once more, desperation tightening her throat. "If there's any way that I can help him, I must."

"I suppose it's already occurred to you that you might not come back, nay, that you likely _won't_ come back? _If_ you even manage to reach the Aos Sí, and _if_ they grant you the information you seek, you might end up just as trapped as this man of yours…"

"It has," Hermione answered, hope flickering at the old woman's words. She gazed with determination into those pale blue eyes. The thin, aged skin around them crinkled as they stared back, seeming to judge her intent and consider more than just her pleas.

Finally, Eleanor gave a resigned sigh and nodded. "Well, I don' suppose there's any point in arguin' with love," she muttered with a grunt as she pulled herself up and shuffled over to a low bookcase beneath one window.

Hermione frowned and opened her mouth to argue but closed it with a snap as Luna elbowed her and shook her head. She was right, of course – it ultimately didn't matter what motive the old woman thought was behind this. _And 'love' could technically still apply – love for Harry, who will be ecstatic when Sirius returns. A general 'love' for mankind… there are many different kinds of love, after all,_ she rationalized to herself.

Her attention was drawn to the elderly witch's voice uttering a soft incantation in a language she didn't recognize. The air around the squat bookcase shimmered briefly, and upon closer inspection, Hermione could see that its contents had changed. They must have changed, because she was certain she'd have noticed the collection of tomes that were beyond ancient. They looked older than any books she'd ever seen, even those at Hogwarts. She must have let out a little sound of surprise, because Eleanor smiled over her shoulder just then.

"I like to keep a portal to the family library here," she explained, giving a satisfied grunt as she pulled a particularly dusty volume from the shelf. "Katie never was much of a reader, bless her soul, and I can't stand those books she does keep - all gossip and nonsense. Here -- " She handed the book to Hermione.

It was slim and the cover was plain, but for a single faded symbol in the lower right hand corner. Her eyes narrowed as she ran her thumb over it. It looked so familiar, yet not quite. It wasn't exactly runic… _where had she seen this?_

"_Dis Pater,_" Eleanor muttered softly. "Hope you know someone who's good with translation and codes."

Hermione let out a small gasp as it hit her. Of course she recognized that symbol – well, a bastardized version of it, anyway. She'd seen it countless times over the last week, roughly sketched and crossed out, corrected and revised on at least a dozen aged pages of parchment. She slowly lifted her eyes to meet Eleanor McAllister's shrewd gaze.

"Thank you."

The words would never convey her gratitude enough.


	5. Vision Quest

_~Chapter 4~_

If anyone had told Hermione Granger five years ago that she'd be relying on – no, _trusting wholeheartedly in_ the whimsical advice of Luna Lovegood for a possible life and death matter…

Well, for starters, the whole scenario would have been negated by the fact that 99.9 percent of all prophesizing was bollocks anyhow. _Still…_ Gazing at her bare toes as they curled absently into the cold, wet grass, Hermione chuckled softly in disbelief.

An entire week's worth of translating and research and she still had no real plan, other than to get herself good and lost, then "wait and see." She – Hermione Granger, highest marks at Hogwarts in twenty years, a witch purported to be the "mastermind" behind the downfall of Voldemort (utter rubbish, that, although she would accede that she'd certainly been the planner of their trio throughout that horrifying year) – now, here, a few hours before dusk in some unknown patch of Irish wilderness in her bloody bare feet and an ancient, shapeless cotton shift, with no plan.

_Of course, very little had gone according "to plan" in the past five years, at least compared to how she'd hoped things would turn out at the time…_

Although she'd have sworn on her well-worn copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ that it hadn't been the case, that she'd never be so presumptuous or naïve, in her heart of hearts, Hermione had _hoped_. All throughout their time together at school, she'd hoped Ron would notice her in _that_ way. Then he finally had, and all throughout that year on the run, she'd not only hoped, but had made up her mind that they _would_ survive, and finally, finally she would get her wizard. Deep inside, as silly as it was and as much as it went against what she'd believed to be her own feminist ideals – oh yes, she'd not only hoped, but she'd planned. They'd win the war, take a few years to bask in couple-dom, establish their careers, get married, and eventually have a family. Their children would have wild, red curls, and their sharp intelligence would be tempered by that Weasley warmth and humour. She and Ron would stand with Harry and Ginny on Platform 9¾ one day and send their own children off to Hogwarts.

_Thank the gods that so little had gone according to plan, really,_ she thought with a secret smile. Then, _Amazing how lovely and clean the cold, moist soil feels under bare feet. Must do this more often…_

"I do wish you'd have taken the sleeping draught," Luna said in an uncharacteristically fretful tone. "At least for a night or two," she added, almost chiding.

Hermione glanced up at her friend, feeling a slight stab of guilt at the concerned frown on Luna's face. "I'm pants at that meditation stuff," she explained, "which left either mind-altering potions, or sleep deprivation."

Luna hummed sceptically and turned back to the bag of supplies they'd brought. Hermione let out a silent sigh. The truth was, she was terrified. Everything she'd translated had only confirmed the darkest folk tales – one didn't simply "visit" with the Aos Sí. And chance encounters had only ever been hearsay, because people didn't return from those encounters. It was a twofold suicide mission; _if_ she managed to succeed, find the ancient race of beings and return with the information she needed, she'd still have to face Dis Paternus Ianua. Why, then, was she so bent on going through with this?

The answer was in the recurring nightmares she'd experienced on a now-nightly basis. Each time, the details came into clearer, more gruesome focus, until it seemed less a nightmare and more a horrific memory she couldn't wipe clean. Hermione was relying on the crystal clear terror of those dreams to propel her forward in her mission. It was as if, by taking a sleeping draught and forcing a false calm to her well-being, she risked tricking herself into backing out. After all, every ounce of logic in her head screamed to save herself, that this whole idea made no sense, and that it would only end in more heartbreak for her loved ones. Her instincts, however…

The hill where they stood gently sloped downward to the edge of an old and craggy looking forest. When she stared long enough, she could catch the afternoon sun occasionally glinting off the surface of a hidden stream. Her instincts told her to follow that stream as far as her feet would take her, deep into the woods until she could no longer stand upright. And then --?

_Madness,_ her sensibilities warned. She could hardly recognize herself these past couple of days. She knew she looked the same – well, other than the dark circles that had formed under her eyes. But the Hermione Granger who'd relied on books and cleverness her whole life was at a complete loss. Who, then, was this woman standing in her place? She blinked and shook her head as Luna made her way back over to her. _It's just exhaustion, that's all,_ she reminded herself. What little sleep she'd gotten in the past week had been battered by images of aged hands, unspeakable darkness, indescribable, abstract horrors, and an irreparably broken Sirius Black. Really, according to her research and translations, her state of being was probably perfect for this sort of thing.

A flash of silver caught Hermione's attention as Luna plucked the edge of one of her sleeves. In one neat _snip_ of shears, a small chunk of the fabric fell away.

"What are you--"

"It's for tracking," Luna answered with a smile. "They didn't really mean any harm, but I got tired of hunting down all of my things at the end of each year. So in fifth year, I came up with a tracking charm. I got fairly good at snipping discreetly," she added brightly.

Hermione shook her head. "We agreed that I had to be clean of any magic for this."

"And you are," Luna replied. "The spell just reunites the separated pieces. If you're not back by mid-morning, this will take me to you. Now, your quilt is in here, along with water, regular clothes and shoes, food for tomorrow morning, and a Muggle first aid pack," she listed, her head almost buried in the knapsack as she double checked the supplies.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, feeling a sudden, irrational tightness in her throat.

"Oh, I don't mind," came Luna's cheerful response. "It really wasn't any trouble, and I'm rather looking forward to camping out here tonight."

Realizing her friend either didn't catch the reason for her gratitude or was neatly glossing it over for her own sake, Hermione swallowed and forced a smile in return. "Right," she said with more determination than she felt. "Well, then…" She nodded towards the woods in the distance. "I suppose I'll do this."

And with that, she turned and traipsed down the hill, not looking back at quite possibly the last human being she might ever see.

~O~

It wasn't working.

_Why wasn't it working?_ Hermione took a deep breath and repeated the strange incantation for the umpteenth time, her eyes squeezed shut in concentration. _Focus…_ She spoke the foreign words out loud this time, but they fell only on the ears of the forest wildlife. When she opened her eyes again, it was to the disappointing realization that it was now fully dark and twilight had long since passed. Her window of opportunity had come and gone without success.

Gazing hopelessly at her surroundings, Hermione wondered, and not for the first time, just what on earth she was doing. Countless times in the past weeks she'd asked herself this question, and the same answers always came: _Rescuing an innocent man… Giving her best friend back his only family… Saving Sirius Black…_ Now, however, she had no real answer, only gut deep uncertainty. What _was_ she doing here, traipsing lost through an unknown forest in search of some mythical being, freezing her arse off in one of Luna's great-grandmother's robes because it was the only thing they could find that hadn't been manufactured by machine or magic? What if she was wrong? What if the journal was nothing more than the delusional ramblings of a madwoman, or worse – some sort of sick prank or trap? Despite legends and a few ancient tomes, there was no proof that the Aos Sí even existed.

A shiver racked her frame and Hermione drew her legs up, curling her arms tightly around her knees for warmth. The night sounds of the woods suddenly seemed raucous and almost aggressive, as if taunting her for her own foolishness. She nervously fingered the leather clasp of the wand holster at her wrist and considered her options.

She'd already been near to stumbling with exhaustion when she'd stopped at her current location. It had seemed ideal, the perfect combination of "in-betweens" – a tiny patch of land at the crest of a steep embankment jutting over the small river – land somewhat hovering in air over water. The Aos Sí were considered creatures of the in-between, so Hermione had planned on finding such a location to conduct the ritual at twilight – another 'in-between' time. Her state of being sure as hell was appropriately 'in-between,' as she'd achieved little more than six hours of sleep over the past several days and none at all the previous night. In addition, she'd fasted for two whole days in a similar spirit of the vision quests she'd read about in many ancient shamanistic traditions. As a result, however, she knew she was far too weak and unfocused to Apparate without a high risk of splinching herself.

A twig snapped close by, followed by a rustling noise in the underbrush. Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and she jumped to her feet, only to twist her ankle and fall forward, her head narrowly missing a large rock that jutted out of the ground. She looked up in time to see something brown and furry waddling back into the woods. Growling in irritation at herself, she sat up and checked her ankle. Thankfully, the throbbing was already beginning to dull and there appeared to be no swelling. The pain was enough to clear her head, though, and she realized that, all uncertainties aside, her only option was to trudge onward. Even if she gave up and admitted defeat, in her current condition, the only way out of there was to send a Patronus to Luna and have her friend come searching for her. Hermione's cheeks flushed in embarrassment at the very idea. She wasn't in any danger – not really. She had a bag full of Muggle camping supplies, and if worse came to worst, she could break her own self-inflicted taboo and use magic to make it through the night. She was a Gryffindor, damn it. She could bloody well make it through an autumn night in the woods, for Merlin's sake.

Heaving herself up on her uninjured leg, Hermione tested her weight before limping over to her bag and setting off in search of a better campsite for the night. Her movements through the forest were almost belligerently noisy now as she hobbled in a directionless path. Giving up any pretense of timidity towards any forest "spirits," she muttered angrily to herself about the sheer idiocy of this entire plan.

"Mythical creatures, indeed," she growled as she shoved a low branch out of her way. "So mythical they can't even give the simple courtesy of responding." She'd gone through great pains to show the utmost respect for the supposed "nature spirits," going so far as to ask aloud for permission and begging pardon for simply relieving herself on any potentially sacred patch of grass.

_And for what?_

Her disappointment and anger pushed her forward despite the throb in her ankle and the fact that she was near-dizzy with exhaustion. When she finally came upon an unexpected clearing, she let out a little cry of surprise and relief. It was a perfect campsite, presented only moments before she might have collapsed completely.

"Thank you," Hermione found herself murmuring in spite of herself. "Oh, thank you."

There was hardly a sliver of moon in the sky, but her eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness so that the multitude of stars and that tiny, new crescent seemed to fill the clearing with a subtle silvery glow. It took everything she had not to drop to her knees in gratitude. But she knew if she didn't keep moving, she'd be too exhausted to build a fire for the night, and her fingers and toes were nearly numb. It had been sheer luck that the temperatures were quite a bit higher than average for Ireland this time of year, but Hermione could still see her breath once night had fallen, and her clothing was a poor excuse for protection from the cool air. More than once she'd been tempted to dig into her bag and don her normal clothes, especially her socks and trainers. But whether it was stubbornness or a tiny thread of hope that it might still make a difference, she'd made it this far without breaking a single taboo.

As she began searching for firewood, however, her chattering teeth and faltering steps made speed a higher priority. Releasing her wand from its holster, Hermione _Accio'ed_ several pieces of wood from a nearby fallen tree. In a matter of minutes, she had a modest but toasty fire going within a small circle of stones. Wrapping herself in the large but thin handmade quilt she'd packed, she settled in as close to the fire as possible without burning herself.

Rolling her bag into a makeshift pillow, Hermione sighed and tried to relax enough to sleep. Despite her physical exhaustion, as soon as she even thought about sleeping, her stomach sank with a feeling of dread. She knew that the moment she shut her eyes, the dreams would come back. _Well, 'dream,'_ she thought unhappily, _singular._ And this time, not only would the nightmare bring with it the terror, confusion, worry, and inexplicably acute feeling of heartbreak, but it would also have the added bonus of guilt. How could she face even the dream-vision of that lost and broken Sirius Black, knowing now that she'd already failed?

_No,_ Hermione thought, stopping herself. _It's just a dream – nothing more than a psychological culmination of the journal, stress, and an active imagination._ It had become her mantra for the past several days now, but it was also the truth. Recurring dreams were hardly anything new to her, after all.

Looking up at the night sky, her eyes found 'him' almost immediately. Hermione couldn't help the small smile as she shook her head at herself and remembered.

_Orion… her dark, tragic 'prince'…_

As a child, it had been the only constellation she could ever remember and recognise in the light-polluted skies of the London suburb where her family had lived. The three stars that formed his belt, the fainter ones that were his sword, the slightly brighter one at his foot, and the red one with the funny name in his armpit. Of course, now she knew them all: Betelgeuse the red giant, Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka formed the belt, Rigel the bright foot, and even Saiph shone clearly as Orion's other foot. _Then, of course, there was Orion's shoulder…_ Hermione wouldn't even think her name, although her jaw clenched briefly in a flare of hatred. That twisted smirk and those dark, cold eyes, that unmistakable cackle… _No._ She forced her attention back to nicer memories instead, memories of childhood fancies and innocence.

Countless nights a very young Hermione would find herself slipping out of bed from the same strange dream and perching her ten-year-old self in the window seat of her bedroom to stare up at the constellation. _It was always the same dream: the dark haired man in an even darker place, screaming in agony. Sometimes it sounded almost like he was screaming her name…_

It had quickly become her private little ritual of comfort, climbing out of bed at whatever ungodly hour and gazing at the constellation that hovered over the large oak tree outside her bedroom window. She would let her mind take fancy, imagining the black haired man in her dreams to be an unjustly imprisoned soldier, or perhaps a knight held captive by an evil sorcerer. '_Her_' knight. He'd looked so terrible in her dreams, yet she'd still been able to recognize the makings of someone who'd once been as handsome as a prince beneath his gauntness and filth.

Ever precocious even at that tender age, Hermione had dissected the dream so many times while staring up at the night sky that she'd taken to mentally referring to the man as Orion.

Of course, her child-self hadn't yet grown out of such romantic notions at that point. Age and the ugliness of life itself eventually stamped that out. _And necessity,_ a tiny voice in Hermione's mind amended. The wry smile on her lips faded as she let another memory slip in – the uncomfortable and embarrassing one that thankfully, no one knew about.

_The Shrieking Shack…_

It was the year Sirius Black had come into their lives. It was also the year that she'd learned to set aside those childhood fairy tales once and for all. There were no tragic princes, no unjustly imprisoned knights. Even in the wizarding world, they were all just human – messy, complicated, and decidedly _un_-romantic. Hermione just thanked the gods that she'd had the sense, even at the age of fourteen, to see reality for what it was. Her recurring dreams had been just that – dreams. And their abrupt end came with the news of an escaped Azkaban prisoner, because reality was far more terrifying than her subconscious fantasy. As for the images of Sirius Black in the Wanted posters – well, leave a person half-starved in their own filth long enough, and they'd probably all look very similar to the prisoner in her dreams.

Then came the night that Harry got his godfather back…

_ She couldn't look at him. _

_She had no choice, however. He had them at wand-point now, and would surely kill them all. But no, he apparently only wanted Harry. Well, he _couldn't have him.

_Hermione stepped out in front of her friend in an act of brave defiance. She was angry, _so angry_. Why did she feel so…_betrayed_? She couldn't help it – her heart pounded as much out of fury as terror when she faced the wand pointed at her, held between fingers that looked shockingly graceful for all the dirt and cuts and grime. Fingers that looked like they could sculpt fine art from thin air…_

_And suddenly everything shifted. _Scabbers… a man named Peter Pettigrew… Oh, gods…__

_Hermione felt her heart break for the raven-haired 'prince,' as Truth began to bleed through the big picture. And still she stood by her friend as he tried to work through the facts, even as an escaped convict and a werewolf stood in that broken down shack, snarling like mad dogs at the simpering rat before them. _

_"Excuse me, Mister Black… Sirius…" she finally said, having summoned every ounce of nerve in her fourteen-year-old self just to address _him_ directly. _

_When he turned to answer her, his grey eyes flashed briefly, a flicker of something, something that mirrored her thoughts for such a short moment, she might have convinced herself she'd imagined it, but for the feeling of ice water seeping down her spine and pooling in her heart. _

__I know you…

_He looked at her as if he'd never seen anything quite like her in his life. _

Oh yes, she'd struggled with that for years. It had almost been a blessing that Sirius had turned out to be such an immature, self-entitled wanker so much of the time. Had he been anything better, more mature, more attractive than that overgrown child with too much time and alcohol on his hands, Hermione's crush would have spiraled desperately out of control. At least, that's what she'd told herself of him - _immature, selfish, destructive, irresponsible..._ Every one of his flaws she'd magnified in her head to extreme, almost comical proportions. As a result, she and Sirius never really got along, so Hermione had been able to bury her feelings and dreams until they were but a faint memory.

Suddenly blinking and focusing once more on the stars above her, Hermione frowned. _Could that be it?_ she thought, wondering briefly if the intense grief she was experiencing in her dreams was related to the childhood crush she'd once had on Sirius. She knew her dedication to this venture had become more like an obsession; she wouldn't even entertain the possibility of giving up, of failing.

_"Don' suppose there's any point in arguin' with true love…"_ Eleanor McAllister's presumptive remark came to mind before Hermione quickly dismissed the thought. Again, she shook her head. She really _was_ exhausted, and clearly thinking less and less coherently.

Sirius Black was her best friend's godfather. And after everything she'd seen Harry endure – both throughout their friendship and especially after Sirius' disappearance – well, what choice did she have, really? Of course she would do anything she could to rescue Harry's only family. Even if Sirius had been a mere stranger, at the very least she'd have gone to Tages and done everything she could to help with a rescue mission. It was common decency, that's all. But for Harry, her brother in all ways but blood, this was a chance to bring something unspeakably precious back into his life. Some silly adolescent crush had nothing to do with it. She could hardly remember what Sirius – the Sirius she'd known – looked or sounded like. And thinking on what little she _could_ recall, the only feelings those memories drudged up were desperation and anxiety. No fluttering feelings of "love," for Merlin's sake.

She needed to rescue him, though. Somehow.

Hermione smiled sadly as the dog star twinkled brightly above her. "Rescuing" people… it seemed liked they were always rescuing someone in their growing up years. And it had always been a joint venture – she, Harry, and Ronald. _Not this time, however…_ Her lids growing heavy, Hermione found herself wondering how unhealthy it was that she rather missed those times…

_"What'll it be tonight, Pers?"_

_"Don't call me _that_ – that's what Uncle George calls his brother!"_

_"Oh, yes, well…" A deep male chuckle was quickly covered by the purposeful clearing of a throat. "What story would you like to hear tonight, then, Princess Persephone?" he asked in an overly posh tone of voice._

_Hermione smiled to herself as she listened in on the two, bending down to pick up the last of the toys and books that littered the pale yellow carpet. _

_"Tell me about when Mummy rescued you," the young girl answered. _

_That warm rumble of laughter came again, filling her chest with a peculiar sort of warmth. She turned to the child's bed situated under a large picture window (so she could look up at the stars). His back was to her, blocking her view of the bed's occupant. But the shoulder length ebony waves with a few precious silver streaks were unmistakable. _

_"Which time?" Sirius asked, his voice still laced with amusement. _

_"The one you named me for, of course," Persephone replied._

_"Ah, of course. Well, where do we begin…" he said, leaning in to tuck the blankets around the child._

_It was a story that was mostly made-up, Hermione knew, and purposefully embellished to resemble the ancient myth. _

_"The curtain," Persephone insisted. "The Pah – Pater…"_

_"Dis Paternus Ianua," Hermione finished patiently. _

_Sirius' head swung around at the sound of her voice, and she gasped. His face was strange and distorted, his mouth impossibly wide, sharp yellow teeth bared, soulless black eyes narrowed in suspicion. When he spoke next, the voice that came out of that mouth was terrifying – it was the sound of ice and broken wood and empty space. "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"_

With another gasp that was deafeningly loud, Hermione awoke, her heart pounding and her breath coming in frightened pants. The sight that met her eyes as they flew open was enough to cause her to shriek.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"

That voice – that voice again… it wasn't in her dream, it was right _here_, coming from the gaping slash of a mouth on a creature she'd never seen before in her life. It looked almost like a grindylow, but larger, less distinct, and far, far more terrifying.

"You heard her the first time. Stop frightening the poor child," another voice chided softly. This one sounded like silk in ice water – almost the opposite of the creature who was still hovering over her. "Aiya, I said _stop,_" it added in a sharper tone.

This time the creature straightened, backing off into a slightly less menacing stance with an indignant huff. Hermione took the opportunity to sit up and scoot a little farther away, feeling around for her wand as she did so.

"I took the liberty," the other voice said, just as she began to panic at the absence of her wand. "We wouldn't want you to harm yourself."

Hermione jerked around, still unable to see who was speaking. The voice seemed to come from all around her, and the clearing was still dark. Darker than before, in fact, as the moon had apparently set and the stars were beginning to fade as dawn whispered at the horizon. She struggled to her feet, her ankle stiff and sore but workable. "Who are you?" she called out, ignoring the creature she _could_ see, who was now grinning smugly with that wide, horrible mouth.

"As if she has any right to ask!" it snarled.

"Aiya," the disembodied voice said in a warning sort of purr.

"Please," Hermione said, forcing herself to sound as calm and polite as possible, but she was at a loss for what else to say. Although she was wide awake and her body was practically thrumming with adrenaline, her whole sense of reality had taken a sharp turn for the surreal. "I – I was just lost. I was looking for--"

"Your name," the voice interrupted coolly.

"Pardon?" Hermione squeaked.

"Your _name_, girl!" Aiya screeched.

"H-Hermione. My name is Hermione Granger. I'm looking for--," she began again, but was once more cut off by who she had now decided was the 'leader' of the two.

"_You_. Of course," it said thoughtfully, as though realizing something important. "Well, well. So you found a way to change it, I see."

"Pardon me?" Hermione asked incredulously. "I – I'm sorry, I think you might be mistaken."

Rather than giving any sort of reply, a pale blue glow filled Hermione's peripheral vision. She turned just in time to see the light flare to an impossibly bright level. Then it shrank, drawing in on itself until it appeared to solidify and take the form of a very tall, very slender, but very imposing figure.

Hermione squinted, both from the blinding, aching sensation of someone turning on a very bright light after sitting in the dark for hours, and also to gauge just who, or _what_, she was looking at.

Absolutely beautiful and utterly terrible to behold all at once – she was struck with the sudden thought that this creature, whomever it was, looked exactly as its voice sounded. It was all angles and grace, yet both the angles and the grace about it were severe and inhuman. Its facial features were small and delicate, its expression placidly neutral. But something told Hermione that it was deceptively so.

"You are looking for the Aos Sí," it finally said. "I am _Iaveo_, and you have already met my counterpart, _Aiya_."

Hermione found herself bowing her head slightly and looking down in respect, although she still had no idea who and what 'Ee-ahvehoh' and "Ah-ee-yah" were. When she did so, Iaveo nodded and moved closer to the center of the clearing. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione swore she saw what appeared to be two large, arcing antlers sweeping off the crown of Iaveo's head. The illusion disappeared when she jerked her head up and looked directly at him. Or her.

Iaveo's lips curved thinly. "We are not divided by gender quite the same way you mortals are. Neither are we limited by speech as a means of communication, nor do we engage in such self-destructive dependencies on sticks of wood for focusing our powers." At this, Iaveo fingered the wand now held between impossibly long, slender hands.

Hermione inhaled sharply, feeling a lurch of worry and possessiveness. The normally sturdy shaft of vine wood and dragon heartstring looked suddenly fragile and precious in Iaveo's grip. She heard him sigh (having decided that if the creatures' genders were to remain a mystery, she would simply assign one for her own mental purposes).

"So much potential, yet you humans hold yourselves back, investing everything in these… _crutches._ It will take you longer than I could even tell to wean yourselves away from such a stilting device." He sniffed disdainfully before narrowing his gaze on Hermione. "Generations of focusing your power into these little wooden sticks is dangerous, child. It is for that reason alone that we have had to separate ourselves from your kind. And, it is that critical flaw in your race that has ultimately brought you here, bumbling around these woods in search of a _fairy tale._"

"I don't--"

"_Understand_," Aiya snarled behind her. "They never _understand_, and yet they behave as if they know everything. Humans! Bah!"

"Your wand will be returned to you when we are finished. But for now, young Miss Granger, come." Iaveo crooked a finger, then turned, walking into the woods.

For a moment she hesitated, uncertain about leaving her belongings there. They were just things, however, and this creature was disappearing into an unfamiliar forest with her wand and possibly the answers she needed.

"You are here because one of your kind has gotten himself stuck within the realm of my kind, via an artefact that is currently being held within the walls of the Ministry of _your_ kind," Iaveo said, once Hermione had caught up with him.

"Erm, well, yes," she answered uncomfortably. Although his tone was clinical and detached, the unspoken fact that the archway had been stolen from the Aos Sí remained. Hermione felt a blush of shame for the clumsy and atrocious actions of 'her kind.' "There was a battle in the room where it's being held, and a man – a very kind and good man – fell into the archway by accident. I realize there are bigger--"

"He did not get there by 'falling in,' Miss Granger," Iaveo corrected. "I suggest you try it for yourself. I also suggest that if you wish to help your friend _successfully_ this time, you spend more time _listening_ than speaking."

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Very good. As I was saying, Mister Black did not _fall in_ to the after-realm. I assure you, our gateways are not made so crudely as that. Of course, you with your sticks and your violence – it may be difficult to understand the elegance of an artefact such as Dis Paternus Ianua."

"Then how-?" Hermione asked before remembering to keep quiet. She could hardly help it, though. There were so many other questions she had, not the least of which was how in the hell he knew all of this in the first place – knew of Sirius and knew why she was there, yet hadn't done anything about it yet. Iaveo did not correct her this time, however.

"_Think_, Miss Granger. There was a battle in the room where the gateway is held, you said. A battle which, no doubt, involved a multitude of curses and hexes being thrown around like so much debris in a windstorm. All that magic tossed around in the vicinity of something so volatile and clearly unknown to your kind as our archway, and you presume that your friend disappeared because he simply _fell through_ the curtain? Really." His tone had a definite edge now, and Hermione was almost relieved to see something akin to emotion in this aloof being.

Setting aside her initial defensiveness, she thought about everything Iaveo had said so far about human magic. She thought back to Neville's memory, to the jet of red light that had struck Sirius, knocking him into the archway. _Of course…_ All of that magic being thrown around – it must have created a sort of fissure between their world and – how had he put it? – the 'after realm' of the Aos Sí. That flash of realization was overshadowed, however, by a deeper, more dreadful understanding of just how much 'her kind' didn't know.

"Yesss," Iaveo murmured, sensing that she understood. "You use these primitive tools for such destructive means," he chided. "_This_ is why we parted ways – your kind cannot be trusted."

"But I need to rescue him," Hermione blurted out.

"Yes, yes you do," he replied absently.

"And what about Dis Paternus Ianua?" she continued. "The Ministry has no business keeping such a thing. It doesn't belong to them, and it's clearly dangerous to us…"

"Can you recall a time when it wasn't in the Ministry?"

It was a strange question, and Hermione wasn't sure how to answer. Clearly it had been in the Department of Mysteries for ages…

"Then you are not the one who will return it to us," Iaveo said, clearly unconcerned.

He stopped abruptly, and Hermione stumbled over a tree root. He turned to her, and in the dim light of that pre-dawn hour, she was able to see him more clearly. His skin was so translucent it seemed almost fragile, as if a single scratch would snag and tear it like the skin of an overripe plum. There was not a single wrinkle or blemish there, but he seemed older than Dumbledore had in his final year. His eyes weren't black as she'd originally thought, but a deep midnight blue, wide-set but narrow, with lashes that matched his hair - so pale they almost weren't there. He smiled at her then, showing a line of pointed teeth that were too small for any normal human mouth.

"I cannot _tell_ you how to retrieve your friend from the after-realm," he said finally. Before Hermione could protest, however, he continued. "It is not a knowledge that can be imparted in words. I will pass this knowledge along to you, but know that once it is used, it will be returned."

She was tired and he wasn't making any logical sense, but beggars couldn't be choosers. The one thing she did understand from his statement was that she had one chance at this, and only one chance. She watched as Iaveo raised his hands to either side of her head, not yet touching.

"May I-?" he asked.

Drawing in a deep breath and resigning herself to more of the strange and impossibly vague, Hermione nodded.

"Close your eyes, then. It works better that way," he whispered.

Blackness, then cool, soothing fingers at her temples. She gasped at the sudden sensation, however, of those fingers sinking _through_ her skin, her skull, behind her eyes and between her ears. The sounds of the forest around her disappeared, and although she was gripped with terror at the invasion, Hermione realized she couldn't move or defend herself if she tried. Then, just as suddenly, the fingers gently eased out and she could hear again. When she opened her eyes, she began to speak, to tell Iaveo just what she thought of his sick and invasive sort of magic. _'Elegant my arse,'_ she thought angrily, inhaling deeply. However, in one single breath, she _knew._

Her eyes widened with awe. There was no way she could put it into words, but suddenly, with every fiber of her being, she simply _knew._ When she looked up at Iaveo, he was watching her with a satisfied smirk. He nodded once, then conjured several things from thin air: a small jar of sand, a wreath of herbs and flowers the likes of which Hermione had never seen, and a crystal flask of clear liquid.

When he turned and continued walking, it took her a moment to put her body into motion. Once she'd caught up with Iaveo, he said, "It would really be best if you would leave the wand out entirely. There must be absolutely no wand magic there, Miss Granger."

"Of course," Hermione replied, huffing slightly both out of excitement and having to jog to keep up with him now.

Suddenly, without warning, they came to the edge of the forest.

"And here is where I leave you," Iaveo said, bowing his head slightly. He held out her wand to her.

"I – thank you," Hermione said, surprised at the abrupt end of their walk. She let out a sigh of relief and contentment once her wand was back in her hand, then blushed when Iaveo raised a pointed eyebrow at her.

"You will do great things, Miss Granger. I look forward to never seeing you again, however."

And with that, Iaveo turned and retreated into the woods, fading from sight within a matter of metres. It was a strange farewell, yet she couldn't agree more. Turning back to the open hillside, Hermione was delighted to see a familiar blonde figure in the distance. Relieved and more than ready to go home, she quickly made her way up to where Luna appeared to be breaking down camp.

"Oh, did you forget something?" Luna asked, barely glancing up from the bag she was unpacking.

"No," Hermione replied, frowning slightly. "Did you?"

Humming thoughtfully, Luna answered, "I don't think so. There was a book I was going to bring, but it's just one night… What _happened_ to you?" Her eyes were wide as she regarded Hermione fully now.

"I… well, I twisted my ankle last night, but it's fine, and then this morning-" Hermione fell silent as Luna began shaking her head.

"When? I could have treated that for you before we left. But now – it might not be very smart to use potions right before your ritual. Maybe there's a Muggle bandage in your kit…" Suddenly, Luna's pale eyes zeroed in on the garland of flowers around Hermione's neck. She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in a rare display of unabashed excitement. "Where have you been?" she demanded.

"Where and _when_," Hermione mumbled tiredly, too drained to even begin to explain why she'd evidently returned moments after departing. "I know, Luna – I know how to get Sirius back."

"You're exhausted," Luna said worriedly, but seeming to take the rest in stride. "Is it safe to Apparate you with those?" she asked, pointing to the strange flowers.

She didn't need to even consider it. Hermione simply nodded and stood patiently while Luna repacked the items she'd just begun to set out. Tonight, or 'last night,' apparently, she would finally sleep. Tomorrow, she would rescue Sirius Black.

~O~


	6. Dis Paternus Ianua

  
_~Chapter 5~_

One of the defining aspects of being an Unspeakable was having one of the highest security clearances within the Ministry. By their very nature, Unspeakables simply couldn't speak of their work, and this included explaining to Ministry security any strange hours they kept, or mysterious items being brought in or out.

On the other hand, the very nature of their work also meant that within the Department of Mysteries, they had their own stringent security measures and regulations. Hermione considered it no small miracle that she hadn't been questioned more thoroughly about the long hours she'd been keeping over the past few weeks. It was a good thing now, though, as the night guard at the main entrance was already used to seeing her coming in to work and merely greeted her with a grin and a slight shake of his head.

"Really now, Miss Granger – on a Sunday?" Charlie Wilcox chided.

Hermione shifted her oversized bag to her other shoulder and willed herself to not think of the contents within as she returned his smile. "I missed a couple of days last week, Charlie – I'm sure you noticed."

The old, burly-looking wizard merely gave an exaggerated _harrumph_ as he waved her past the front desk.

Even though she _had_ been arriving early and working late for weeks now, she could never really get used to the unsettling feeling of being in the Ministry after hours. Granted, there were always a few staff members around – usually custodians and security guards – so it wasn't quite as bad. But the empty, quiet solemnity of the building without its daytime occupants would forever remind Hermione of the night they'd come to rescue Sirius and had walked into the Death Eaters' trap. Not a soul had been here then, and it had been her first glimpse of the Department of Mysteries and all of its weirdness. As she pressed the call button for the lift to the ninth level, she felt a surge of anxious excitement. That was the night they lost Sirius Black. Tonight, she would bring him back.

With each step towards that plain, black door to her department, Hermione's heart beat just a little bit harder. By the time she entered the revolving room, she was so keyed up that it took a moment to focus her thoughts on the door to the Death Chamber. Just as she was about to utter the words that would gain her entrance, however, the room came to a shuddering halt. Another door to the far right opened on its own, and a tall figure with short, dark curls emerged. Hermione let out a startled yelp, causing the other person to jump and shriek in response.

"_GRANGER!_" Ashleigh growled, quickly slamming the door shut behind her as she whirled around. "What the hell are you doing here? You scared the ever living bejeebies out of me!"

Hermione bit back a laugh at another one of Ashleigh Stonecroft's crude sounding Americanisms. "What are _you_ doing here?" she demanded instead.

It appeared for a brief moment that Ashleigh flushed, but it was impossible to tell in the dim, blue light of the entrance room. _Probably irritated at my 'lack of respect for authority'_, thought Hermione. "I left something in my desk," she answered, tilting her chin upwards and straightening slightly.

"And you couldn't wait until tomorrow morning?" Hermione asked before she could stop herself. She knew she was pushing it, but better to be told off for disrespecting a not-really-technically-superior coworker than to be caught covering up probably the biggest violation of rules the department had ever seen.

Smirking and rolling her eyes, Ashleigh responded, "For your information, no, it couldn't – I borrowed a book from a friend who's returning to the States tomorrow and he wanted it back before he left."

"Oh," Hermione said, feeling suddenly nervous as a tense silence fell around them for a moment.

"And you? I know you're an overachiever, Granger, but it's a Sunday evening…"

"I missed three days last week," Hermione answered defensively. "And I'm already behind on my project, so I'm trying to catch up."

"Oh, yeah – that book." Ashleigh gave a derisive snort. "I have to say, I'm surprised. You had such a big reputation for being some kind of master cryptologist, but you haven't been able to crack some mouldy old journal?"

Hermione frowned and chewed her lip to keep from rising to Ashleigh's bait. "Right," she said finally, "Well, it is a particularly odd text, after all, but I shouldn't say – I mean… I should probably get back to work on it, then." With that, she raised her wand and prepared to call forth not the door to the Death Chamber, but the entrance to the Department of Mysteries administrative offices. She hoped Ashleigh would take the hint. She and Luna had planned their arrivals to be far enough apart so as not to seem too suspicious to the night watchman. Well, hopefully _less_ suspicious, anyway. Still, Hermione was expecting her any minute now. If Ashleigh caught them both at the DoM after hours, she doubted they could come up with a believable explanation. And Ashleigh would be sure to want to stick around and "manage" them if they both claimed to be catching up on work.

"Right, then. Well, have fun, Granger – see you tomorrow, I guess." Ashleigh said after another long moment.

Hermione let out a loud exhale as the door to the main hallway clicked shut behind her coworker. Seconds later the room began to revolve again. Instead of picking the door she needed right away, she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing for several minutes – both to center and calm herself, and to make certain Ashleigh was really gone. Finally, with a soft incantation, the doors stopped and the one directly in front of her opened, granting her entrance to the Death Chamber.

~~

"_He did not get there by 'falling in,' Miss Granger… I suggest you try it for yourself…_"

Gazing up at the crumbling stone archway, Hermione watched as the thin, tattered fabric of Dis Paternus Ianua swayed ever so slightly. Iaveo's words played back in her mind as she regarded the gateway. In her mind, she knew she should feel fear, or at least caution. The air was cooler there, and she felt that familiar pull towards the veil that had always warned of the artefact's deadly allure.

From behind her, she heard Luna take a breath as if she was about to say something, but no words followed, and for that Hermione was grateful. Anyone else would have badgered her, asking questions at every turn, insisting on a detailed explanation of just how she was going to do this, or how she was so certain of what she was doing. She had explained as much as possible to Luna, but there was still quite a lot that Luna was taking on faith.

And now that faith hovered in the forced silence of the chamber as Hermione took another step toward the archway, her toes just inches from the threshold. The air was so cold now, it was a wonder her breath wasn't coming out in little clouds. And still, she only felt… _curious._ The knowledge she now had of Dis Paternus Ianua ran deeper than anything she'd learned from lessons or textbooks. It was like knowing one's own name, or knowing which hand one wrote with, like knowing how to swallow, breathe, or blink. In fact, her curiosity was only in wondering what, if anything, she was about to experience through this little test.

Raising a hand, she let her fingers barely brush the ancient, black folds of material. It whispered against her skin like a living being - sighing, exhaling ever so gently over her flesh. Looking over her shoulder, Hermione threw a grin at Luna, who was standing just inside the entrance to the chamber. Her hands were tightly clasped around the narrow box that held both of their wands – a precautionary measure to reduce as much potential magic in the room as possible, for the moment. Turning back to the veil, Hermione shook her head wryly and stepped neatly through, the material slithering like weightless ice over her body before returning to its harmless position in the stone archway. She then pivoted around and circled to the front of the podium, pausing with her arms outspread in a little theatrical gesture.

It was quite possibly the first time she had ever seen Luna look genuinely surprised. A wide grin broke out on her friend's face. "Brilliant!" she exclaimed, working the clasp on the box she held as she skipped down the steep steps toward the stone dais. "It can't _really_ go wrong, then, can it? Either it will work or it won't."

"Precisely," Hermione answered, mentally adding the reminder that failure wasn't an option. It _would_ work, even if she had to take a real hex to the chest and "fall" in herself. She hoped it wouldn't come to that, though. There was no knowing exactly what curse Bellatrix had thrown at Sirius, or if it had inflicted any unexpected effects on the other side of the fissure created by the battle.

Wands in hand now, they immediately set to work generating as much erratic magical energy as possible. Two boxes were summoned from just beyond the doorway to the Death Chamber: a small one that Hermione had tucked into her shoulder bag containing the wreath of greenery, the jar of sand, and the bottle of water from Iaveo, and another much larger one that seemed to quiver slightly, which Luna had brought with her. It was filled to the brim with a number of pale, lightweight balls that were roughly the size of Bludgers – far more than would appear to fit into the box. They vibrated impatiently, much like the aggressive Quidditch balls after which they'd been fashioned. Hermione's lips quirked and she felt that familiar twinge of pride she sometimes experienced when inspiration struck from an unexpected but clever place.

After returning home from their excursion to Ireland, Hermione had allowed Luna to dote on her. She hadn't even put up a fight over the sleeping draught this time, although she'd had doubts she'd even needed it by that point. The following day, she let Luna drag her over to the Burrow to be fed and cared for by Mrs. Weasley. It was a Saturday, after all, and she'd still needed time to plan out how she would breach the gateway to the after-realm.

She'd arrived to a full house. Well, a full sky, anyway. George, Alicia, and Angelina were all on brooms in an impromptu Quidditch game against Bill, Charlie, and Ginny when Hermione had Apparated almost directly into the path of a Bludger meant for Angelina. With her typical motherly timing, Molly had diverted the ball, sending it wobbling and veering back into the game with a cluck of disapproval before pulling Hermione inside to be fussed over. But in that moment, Hermione had received her flash of inspiration. Bludgers were charmed to be aggressive, darting around with the determination and drive of a clumsily placed hex. They were also easily modified; Ron had purchased a proper, regulation-standard Quidditch set shortly after the war had ended, and it had taken surprisingly little to charm the balls to stay within the bounds the Weasleys' property lines. With less clumsiness and weight, and more magic…

Luna had been the one to point out that the act of transfiguring and replicating a Bludger would, in itself, imbue the balls with a large concentration of energy. Casting a refracting bounce charm on them, however, would set a high level of magic in motion, increasing with each pass and ricocheting around the room, ultimately resulting in harmless but effective chaos.

A quick flick of the wand released the balls, sending them immediately bouncing first against each other, then across the Death Chamber. Within less than a minute it looked like some sort of misplaced birthday party in the usually somber room: two dozen glowing, white orbs playfully danced all around, randomly bobbling and bouncing and flashing each time the spell Luna had composed hit each one in turn. Hermione felt the air whoosh past her head, brushing her hair slightly as she narrowly missed being caught in the crossfire. They quickly cast _Protego_ charms on themselves, more to prevent breaking the feedback loop they'd set up than anything else.

By the time Hermione returned to the dais, the air was practically humming with magical energy. She consciously stopped herself from dismissing that thought the way she normally would. Instead, with a slow, deep inhale, she let herself feel the fact that the air _was_ humming, vibrating tangibly around her. Not just the air, either, but the very fabric of space and reality. It was more than the whoosh of a spell passing close by. If she softened her gaze, relaxed her eyes and ears and let her whole being feel, she could sense that shimmer – that shudder that warned of the frailty of the veil between worlds, the veil that _couldn't_ be seen.

"This is it," she murmured, quickly donning the wreath of greens. She cast a glance at Luna to find her friend suddenly grave and vulnerable looking.

"Please come back." It was almost a whisper.

"I will," Hermione replied, hoping her doubt didn't sound as apparent to Luna as it did to her own ears. Then, attaching the two small bottles to her belt and securing her wand in its wrist holster, she approached the archway once more.

~~

The hard throb of blood pounding in her ears was quickly drowned out by a wave of unearthly howls and brittle shrieks. At first it seemed nothing more than a cacophonous roar, but with each passing second Hermione began picking out single components here and there. An agonized groan from her left would swell, only to be swallowed by the sudden snarl and tearing noise coming from just behind her. That was followed by a pathetic whimper to her right and an uneven shuffling noise just ahead of her. Over _there_ was something that sounded like raw meat being repeatedly slapped against marble, and then again there was the scraping noise from behind her and to the side – both organic and metallic. There was a rasp and wheeze that sounded like some creature struggling for air, and it mingled with the cold, terrifyingly evil-sounding, high-pitched laugh of a child. All around her, beneath the racket, was an aural bed of suspicious whispers punctuated by a broken, tuneless humming that came from several different directions. Somewhere in the distance there was even a rhythmic grunting that sounded raw and perverse – these were just the handful of sounds she was able to pick out in those first few minutes before realizing she couldn't afford to give in to her hearing.

_The noise alone would drive a person to madness…_

But Hermione quickly shook herself from that thought. She couldn't afford to dwell on the possibility that this place had broken Sirius Black. Mad or not, he couldn't just be left here for eternity, denied even the relief of death.

_Of course,_ a tiny voice inside her grimly pointed out, _even in death these souls have found no relief…_ As if underlining that thought, Hermione suddenly felt a presence directly in front of her. The air didn't move, but the space there felt suddenly filled, and a smell she didn't want to begin to describe assaulted her nose. She fought back a gag at the stench, but had no time for anything else. She froze and her stomach twisted as something cool and slimy brushed the side of her face, trailing slightly down her neck before she shuddered and flailed. She reached up to shove it away but found nothing. A hard, dry laugh faded back into the sea of noise as she furiously rubbed her hand against her face. Another unknown thing fluttered just past her ear and she jerked her head around fruitlessly. Her fingers itched for her wand, for a simple _Lumos_ in this pitch-black place. Unfortunately, her wand was reserved for a worst-case scenario, and this was not that.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the inky darkness and opened them again, even though she knew it would make no difference. Open or closed, her eyes saw nothing but blackness. She had no vision here, and while she could definitely hear, _all_ she could hear was that ever persistent roar of countless souls – a symphony of tormented and twisted fragments of the pain and confusion left behind after death. Hermione took a steadying breath and licked her lips, the gesture reminding her that she did indeed still have her own physical form. Encouraged, she felt around, checking her 'supplies' and smoothing her hands over the raw cotton of her makeshift robes.

Iaveo had given her the impression that the careful measures she'd taken in the forest days prior hadn't been quite as necessary as she'd thought. However, since she'd chosen to disregard his insistence on abandoning her wand for the journey, Hermione supposed that any other precautions she made certainly couldn't hurt. So there she was, barefoot once more, dressed in hand-woven, pure cotton, her hair as unruly and frizzy as it had been in her third year; she'd even taken care to bathe with nothing but ocean salts, stripping away all perfumes and chemicals and anything that could be deemed 'foreign' to an alternate realm. And now she felt incredibly exposed and vulnerable for it, her scrubbed flesh extra sensitive to her surroundings – her surroundings that already threatened to press in on her, suffocating her with chaos, agony, and nothingness all at once…

_Focus._

She remembered her dreams, and remembered what she needed to do next.

Upon opening her mouth, however, Hermione's words were immediately sucked from her lips, lost to the vortex of noise and darkness. For a fraction of a moment she panicked, struck by the sudden sense of being in a vacuum, unable to speak or even breathe. She steadied herself and recalled the knowledge Iaveo had passed to her. Then, licking her lips again, she focused. _I am here for the human. I am here for Sirius Black,_ she thought with as much clarity and strength as she could, not just thinking, but internally speaking the words, directing them to this very place.

At first, nothing happened. So she began forcefully repeating the thought, an internal mantra directed from her mind outward to anything that could listen. Finally, after what may have been seconds or minutes, it appeared: just as in her dreams, a faint glow in the distance, a flickering marker – her destination.

_Flickering…_ not on its own, but as though countless shadows were moving quickly between her and the light.

Bracing herself, Hermione took a tentative step forward and felt the first brush of desolation, of icy death and agonizing heat. It was different from that taunting, cold, slimy caress she'd first experienced. This felt…_more_ than physical. It reminded her of how Iaveo's fingers had invaded her mind as he gifted her with the knowledge she needed. Only, this formless creature was 'giving' nothing. Her first instinct was to fight it off, to jerk away. But some kind of secondary knowledge warned her that doing so would be a mistake that would make matters even worse, like trying to yank one's hand out of the locked grip of a biting dog. So she froze, letting the sensations flick and lap over and through her like sharp, greedy, deadly little tongues before 'it' pulled away. As it moved on, Hermione felt a slight tug inside of her where its tendrils had been, as though it had succeeded in taking a small bit of her with it. She swallowed back a surge of nausea. Knowing there would only be more, she clenched her teeth so hard her jaw hurt and took another step forward, the movement attracting another encounter. Yet another step endured another draining brush, over and over. This went on for what seemed like hours as she approached the distant patch of illumination at a snail's pace.

At one point she swooned, nearly giving in to the torment, wishing they would just take _all_ of her rather than these sick, teasing little samples. She understood now what they were – the starved remains of fragmented souls. And they were ravenous, lost, frenzied for their abandoned state. She was the fresh steak thrown into the den of hungry and maddened tigers. _But they cannot devour you against your will,_ that internal voice of knowledge told her, spurring her on. No, instead they whispered into her ears, slithering into her canals, into her nostrils and against her closed lips, brushing her eyelids before dipping past her skull, sometimes sliding between her fingers like a mockery of a lover. It seemed almost like a game, how they taunted and took whatever they could from her sense of life without completely breaking her.

Still, she stayed focused on the pale patch of light that waited up ahead, and the knowledge of who awaited her there. Through every flinch and shudder, she kept her eyes trained on it, and her thoughts on Harry, her friend whose only family had been given up for dead. It seemed an infinite distance away, but it was clearly just up ahead. Every step brought her closer – she forced herself to believe that, regardless of how long it felt as though she was making no progress.

Finally, even though she seemed no closer, Hermione was able to make out a shadowed figure inside that dimly lit circle. Her steps quickened with renewed determination. As she came even nearer, the shadow-beings around her seemed to drift away, their assaults fewer and weaker, as if repelled by the light. Or, perhaps they had merely accepted that she'd reached her destination, that she wasn't going to succumb to them.

As soon as her foot crossed from the inky blackness into the circle of pale light where Sirius waited, she set to work. The sand and water – natural elements of both the Aos Sí realm and the human realm (not an 'in-between,' but the opposite – a 'both') – just a tiny amount sprinkled around them would form a temporary shelter. _How_ temporary was another question entirely, and one for which Hermione had no answer. Iaveo had either been purposefully optimistic in his description of this place, or he was woefully ignorant of just how many mutilated spirits had accumulated here in the time that the archway had been taken from them. She would have to work quickly.

Her mouth was as dry as the tiny amount of sand left in her jar as she cast a third circle around them. The words she instinctively knew but barely understood came out in a cracked whisper. Finally, re-securing her few supplies at her belt, Hermione turned and took in the painfully familiar image before her. He hadn't moved from his position, hadn't seemed to even notice her presence.

Ebony black waves hid his face, falling in a curtain over his shoulders and arms, which were wrapped around his long, bent legs. She'd always remembered Sirius as being a large wizard – tall and broad shouldered, especially once he'd gained some of his weight and muscle back after Azkaban. But here he almost looked small, so tightly curled into himself, his head buried against his knees, his body rocking ever so slightly. Hermione felt her heart ache for him.

Three tentative steps brought her close enough to him that she could hear the low, steady muttering coming from the cavern of his balled-up frame. She swallowed hard and crouched, praying to every god and deity she could think of that her nightmares weren't about to come true.

_They were just dreams,_ Hermione forcefully reminded herself. And while the mind was a power thing, she refused fall into the belief that dreams could predict some fixed, completely static future event, no matter how uncanny they might be. Besides, her dream _couldn't_ completely come true – she'd holstered her wand on the inside of her sleeve, not at her waist. It would be nearly impossible for someone to snatch it from her. Of course, Hermione _frequently_ holstered her wand there, as it seemed far safer than sticking it in a pocket, or strapping it to her thigh. She refused to admit to herself that beneath the practicality of it, that tiny variation had been a small indulgence, a precaution against an image that was forever burned in her mind. That horrible look of pained clarity on Sirius Black's face, followed by a sudden, self-inflicted green flash… _Just a dream_, she repeated to herself, taking a deep breath.

"Sirius," Hermione said in a quiet but clear tone.

He froze, falling silent for a brief moment before going back to his murmurings.

Licking her lips nervously, Hermione slowly and tentatively reached out her hand, noting with some relief that it was, indeed, hers – right down to the unevenly chewed nails and the paper cut on the side of her index finger – not that strange, wrinkled hand in her dreams. Taking a deep breath, she let her fingertips softly touch the back of his wrist.

"Sirius," she said again.

Again, he froze. She saw his hands clench his trouser legs slightly, but otherwise he didn't respond. Neither did he return to his rocking and mumbling, however. It seemed almost as if he was waiting, listening. Taking this as an encouraging sign, she pressed her fingers more firmly against his wrist. After suffering the countless brushes with those tortured souls on her journey to find him, Hermione felt a heady rush of comfort at the solid, warm, wonderfully _real_ sensation of another living being beneath her touch. She felt an odd mix of fascination and gratitude for the masculine bones and light layer of hair beneath her fingers. She could only imagine what it must be like for him, after all his time spent trapped there…

"Sirius, can you hear me? I've come to get you out of here," she said carefully.

His shoulders heaved as he took in a deep breath. Then, slowly, he raised his head, his unfocused gaze cautiously traveling from her fingers - still on his wrist, up her arm, to her shoulders, then her face.

Hermione watched as his mouth silently worked, a frown furrowing his brow as his eyes very slowly traced over her face.

"M- my… uh…" His voice was a hoarse whisper as he finally formed sounds.

Unable to bear the possibility of him continuing with the babblings and rants she'd dreamt, she interrupted. "Sirius, I don't know if you remember me, but I'm best friends with your godson, Harry Potter…"

He cocked his head, his lips quivering into a sort of amused smirk as his grey eyes continued to flicker over her features. Something flashed in those silvery depths, something of the old Sirius she knew – that wry and cynical sense of humour he'd kept despite horrors that would have broken a normal person.

"_Re-member_?" he repeated slowly, and shook his head slightly. Then, his dazed expression seemed to clear completely. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. "What… year is it?" he asked.

Hermione blinked. It wasn't the first thing she personally would have thought to ask. But he hadn't moved away from her, and the fact that he was asking any questions at all seemed like a good sign. However, it had been nearly five years that he'd been trapped here, so she braced herself for his reaction.

"It's only just October, but the year is 2000," she answered truthfully.

Something flickered in his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitched before he looked away. "Bit early, aren't you, love?" he muttered, seemingly to the darkness that pressed in on their circle.

Confusion and the beginning edge of dread tightened Hermione's throat. That didn't make any sense, unless he was being sarcastic, which, knowing Sirius… She finally settled on politeness as a response. "Pardon?"

He straightened and flicked his hair out of his face. "So you've come to get me out of here, have you?" he asked in a clearer voice, still not looking at her. He gave a short but bitter laugh, shaking his head incredulously.

"Sirius," Hermione pressed gently, "_do_ you know who I am? Do you remember me - do you remember how you got here?"

At this he finally turned to look at her directly, his eyes deliberately taking her in from head to toe. There was something unreadable in his expression, wistful and almost sad…

"Of course I remember you, pet," Sirius answered softly, a half-smile tugging at one side of his mouth. "You've grown up quite a bit since that b- well, since my shrew of a cousin knocked me into this ring of hell." His gaze traveled to the top of her head, not quite meeting her eyes directly. His deep voice held back a chuckle as he said, "It's been a while, but I'd recognize that bushy mane of yours anywhere, Granger. Can't think of any other witch smart or stubborn enough to save the life of a mangy old bastard like me, either. How many times does this make now? Two? Three?"

A grin broke out on her face and Hermione fought the wild urge to throw her arms around the older wizard. She was reminded all too soon, however, that they needed to get out of there quickly as the light around them flickered almost imperceptibly. An icy breeze caressed her back, sending a shiver down her spine. It was followed immediately by a threatening lick of heat. They'd been granted a respite by the powers that resided over this place, but it wasn't indefinite, and now there was not just one, but _two_ humans who absolutely did not belong there.

"We have to go now," she said, pushing herself upright. "Can you walk?" she asked, holding out a hand to Sirius.

"Sweetheart, I'll walk, tango, foxtrot, tap dance, even do an Irish jig if you know the way out of this place," he answered, ignoring her proffered hand and hoisting himself to his feet with a grunt.

Hermione was struck with a sudden inexplicable feeling of awkwardness at his tiny gesture declining her help, so she busied herself checking the supplies at her waist while Sirius brushed off his clothes and shook out his hair. "Yes," she muttered, "well, that's not quite what I had in mind, but - "

"Hermione…"

The sudden note of panic in Sirius' voice caused her to look up just in time for what little light they'd been granted to fall into blackness. At the same time, the lull that she'd barely registered before was broken by a sudden assault of noise. The roar and screech and thunder of that cruel darkness was back full force, and Hermione felt a tide of panic swell in her chest. Their window of opportunity was gone, their brief shelter disintegrated, and far sooner than even Iaveo could have predicted. He'd had no way of knowing just how many souls had been brutally destroyed or cruelly maimed by the war. When she'd searched the information he'd planted in her mind for a time frame, she'd realized that everything would depend upon how many souls inhabited this in-between place.

She'd failed. What the bloody hell had she been thinking? The sand and water in the bottles at her waist – she knew when she formed the circle that their effects would be temporary, and she'd blown their time _chatting_ with Sirius?

Forcefully shoving her panic and desperation down, Hermione thought quickly. She may have failed, but she still had her wand. Steeling herself for inevitable disaster – _'no wand magic…'_ – she curled her wrist inward and flicked the tiny release of her wand holster with her fingers. A rush of relief came as the familiar feel of the vine wood slid into its rightful place in her hand. Iaveo wouldn't tell her exactly what would happen if she did use her wand, but anything would be better, quicker than the alternative. She'd been prepared for this, had braced herself for the possibility of failure, of putting them both out of their misery…

Before she could make another move, however, she felt a pair of arms surrounding her, pulling her close against a broad, warm chest.

"I'm still here, pet," Sirius murmured. She felt more than heard the words rumbled against her ear reassuringly. Something inside of her softened, a tiny part of her soul that relaxed into that embrace as though it were the safety of her bed in her parents' home. Not thinking for just a moment, Hermione gave in to that feeling, letting it uncurl a tendril of soothing warmth inside of her until she could gather her thoughts. Even as the soul-deep iciness and harsh, black heat slithered and flicked greedily over her back, Sirius didn't let go. In that one gesture, he became the 'prince' she'd always secretly wished him to be in her youth – the strength, fierce protectiveness, and loyalty she'd always seen lurking beneath his often unreasonable behaviour now created a warm shelter she'd once craved with the pathetic poetry of an adolescent. Silly as it was, his presence in that moment kept her grounded enough to focus on getting them out of there. His body tensed and jerked against her however, and she knew he was suffering the same abuse as she. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself in closer to him. The garland of greenery and strange flowers crunched softly between them, letting off a strange but not entirely unpleasant perfume as Hermione tried to summon some kind of protective and comforting energy from within.

Despite the pitch black that engulfed them, she closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth of the man in her arms. This man who had already lost half his life to darkness and injustice, who had survived untold horrors all for the love of his best friends and their son – his godson, _her_ best friend… _Harry…_ Hermione tried to center her thoughts on the friend who would be so overjoyed to have his family back, once they returned. And they _would_ return, somehow. She just needed to think quickly – she still had a little bit of sand and water left, and the greenery, which was still a bit of a mystery to her…

She was distracted, however, by the way Sirius' body pressed against hers. His arms held her so closely in an embrace that felt less like that of a protective uncle figure, and more… _intimate_, far more intimate than what it should be with one's best friend's godfather. Yet it felt so comfortable and _right_… Hermione inhaled through her nose and sighed involuntarily at the spicy, salty male scent that filled her nose. _Dear Merlin, he smells delicious_, she thought, and wondered absently how that could be, since he'd been trapped here for so long.

Granted, it had been longer than Hermione cared to admit to herself since she'd been in any man's arms, but even so, she couldn't recall it ever having felt so – well, so very _nice_. Forgetting herself for a moment, she indulged in the feeling, letting herself be pulled in even closer by those strong arms, those hands that pressed possessively against her back. For just that moment, it seemed like the chaos was held at bay, and there was a soft, warm, Sirius-and-Hermione-shaped bubble of safety in that hell. Not wanting to break the 'charm,' she relished it for as long as possible before the inevitable forging ahead.

"Hermione?" Sirius whispered after a time. His lips softly brushed her temple with the utterance, tickling - almost like a kiss, and she felt a small shiver go down her spine in response. It took a moment, but she shook herself with the reminder that this was _Sirius_ and that they were in mortal peril. If she didn't get them out of there quickly, there was a very real danger that they might never leave. She wasn't quite prepared to pull away from his arms and face the darkness full on just yet, though. Fortunately, it appeared that neither was he. Rather than loosening his grip, his fingers drew little circles at the base of her spine, as if gently coaxing a response from her.

"What did you do?" he asked softly. His slightly awed tone confirmed that it wasn't just her imagination – while they weren't completely protected, there definitely seemed to be a slight buffer now between them and the tortured beings surrounding them.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "Sirius – I'm sorry," she added in a rushed murmur, bracing herself for Merlin only knew what.

"Sorry?" he repeated dumbly, pulling back just enough to face her, even though they were still cloaked in pitch darkness. She could feel his breath against her cheek now, and once more she had the fleeting thought that this shouldn't feel so natural and right, yet it sure as hell did…

Mentally giving herself a shake, Hermione explained, "There was only a small window of opportunity, and now I… I don't know how else to get us out." She felt her throat tightening as she confessed her failure to the man she'd doomed. She heard him inhale and felt his body tense against hers as the truth sunk in, but no other response came.

"I – he said 'no wand magic,' but I don't even know what that means," she continued, babbling now. "I have my wand, but I'm not sure what will happen when I use it. Maybe nothing, or I could destroy everything. I could kill us both and I – I was supposed to be rescuing you and - "

She was cut off suddenly as she felt lips press against hers, warm, firm, and sure. A tiny squeak of surprise edged past her throat before –

_Ohhh…_

_This_ was what she came for, what she was rescuing from the depths of hell. It was less of a thought and more of a gut-deep instinct, a heavenly sweet feeling that she felt in the deepest parts of her soul.

Before Sirius could even think of pulling away from that tender touch, Hermione found herself kissing him back, lost in a wave of familiarity and rightness that would have made no sense at all had she been thinking properly. Her eyes fell shut against the inky blackness surrounding them, and she sighed as Sirius pulled her even closer. Parting her mouth slightly in invitation, a blissful moan escaped her (_or was that him?_) as he accepted, his tongue slowly skimming the inner edge of her bottom lip before teasing its way inside. The lazy heat that was building in her chest spiked suddenly, and their kiss turned wild, fierce, starved, then once more gentle and sweet. Hermione's free hand found its way to the back of his neck, her fingers threading hungrily into his hair, wanting to never let him go, never let him stop doing that thing with his tongue. It no longer matter that he was Sirius Black, and yet that was all that mattered. These arms, this scalding hot yet achingly tender kiss, this _man_ holding her like she was his water and air – this was home.

All awareness of their surroundings slipped away into a gradual peace, only to be replaced by a sudden sense of – _ripping._ Well, not _exactly_ ripping, but it was the only word that flitted through Hermione's mind just before chaos closed in on them in a blinding flash of light. It was as though everything was torn away from around them, black replaced by the brightness of a thousand suns no matter how hard she screwed her eyes shut.

Sirius squeezed his arms around her. "Still… here… love," she heard him gasp painfully, just before a terrible twisting and folding took them. It was like Apparation, only a hundred times worse, and it felt as though it would never end.

But end it did. And it ended in darkness once more, although nothing as black and empty as where they'd just come from. Then again, this darkness was void of the chaos and agony they'd just left, so perhaps it was even _more_ empty. Either way, it was darkness, followed the feel of smooth, cold marble beneath her cheek as Hermione slowly collapsed to some unknown floor, her thoughts bleeding out and pooling around her as she fell until her mind felt blissfully empty. Not completely empty, though… She felt more than heard Sirius' presence right next to her, and she heaved a great sigh of relief before all went silent and black.


	7. Out of the Darkness

_~Chapter 6~_

"That patch of rug was already quite threadbare by the time I left, you know," Albus Dumbledore's portrait said wryly. "You'll need to replace it soon at the rate you're going."

Minerva stopped her pacing long enough to glare at the painting of her predecessor. "Oh, yes, I'm sure it's all quite amusing to you, Albus," she snapped.

"Not at all, my dear headmistress," he replied gently. "But she'll return soon. It's already happened, remember."

Throwing her hands up with an impatient growl, she turned away from the portrait again. _It's already happened,_ Minerva mimicked angrily to herself. Only, it _hadn't_ already happened. It was apparently happening _right now._ And all the pontification and rumination on time and space in the world didn't change the fact that nothing was set in stone, nothing was guaranteed.

A sudden streak of light caused her to start before she recognized the silver, translucent lynx now sitting on the rug before her.

"Minerva," Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice rumbled from the Patronus, "we have a situation. I'm with Luna Lovegood, and we need Apparition access to Hogwarts immediately."

"Oh, good heavens," Minerva muttered, unsure of whether to feel relief or panic. Closing her eyes, she forced her happiest memory to the surface, shoving her worries aside long enough to send a reply Patronus. Then, casting a hard glance back at the portrait over her desk, she tightened the belt of her dressing gown and departed for the front steps of Hogwarts.

Moments later, two loud _pops_ sounded just outside the main entrance of the castle. The faint light that emitted from the front windows revealed four figures: two prone and two upright – one of which was exceedingly tall and dark, the other slender and blonde. These two immediately waved their wands, and the two clearly unconscious forms gently rose into the air.

"It's interesting, Apparating past the barrier," came Luna's familiar voice. "Feels funny."

"What happened?" Minerva asked, hurrying down the steps.

"We need to take them to Poppy," Kingsley said, already guiding the larger of the two bodies into the castle. "Sorry to bother you so late," he added.

"Yes, of course, but --" Minerva broke off with a gasp as the slanting light from the open doorway fell across a familiar, beard-covered face. "Is he - ?"

"Don't know," Kingsley replied. Jerking his head in Luna's direction, he added, "She found them like this, just outside the locked door in the Department of Mysteries."

Luna merely offered a small, forced smile as she guided Hermione's body behind Kingsley.

~~

_It's finally over. Thank the gods…_

Not that he'd ever put much stock into the notion of literal gods – great load of superstitious bollocks that was, or so he'd always thought. But he was finally done, it was finally over, and _something_ had graced him with that small bit of mercy, right? He'd even gotten to see _her_, taste her, one last time before he went. A lurch of bittersweet longing filled his soul at the memory. He couldn't have asked for a better ending, really. She'd looked and felt exactly the way he'd remembered. Well, as much as he could remember after all this time. Sure, it had no doubt been a trick of the mind, or something in that warped place where he'd landed – after all, if she'd been real she'd be here with him now. Didn't make it any less heavenly, though.

_Heavenly…?_

Sirius had certainly never believed in some airy-fairy notion of an afterlife with fluffy white clouds and angels strumming harps. But this – this sweet relief wrapped in something as simple as "sleep" – Merlin, he couldn't remember the last time he'd rested in a decent bed. Grimmauld Place didn't count, either – that fucking mausoleum with its centuries of hate, its creepy dark corners and hallways haunted by wretched memories and a deranged old house-elf, and that permanently lingering stench of dust and sickness…

He took a deep breath through his nose and sighed, relaxing deeper into his permanent slumber. None of that here – just blissful, uninterrupted rest. It was all over. Yup, heaven, at least the closest thing to it he could believe in. Peace, at last.

"WHERE IS HE?"

Sirius frowned at the distant sound of a familiar voice.

_James? He's here? Holy fuck – there's more than just this?_

A muted voice he couldn't make out was cut off by a louder demand.

"_WHERE IS SIRIUS, DAMN IT?!_"

_Jesus, Prongs, you don't have to be a bastard about it,_ Sirius thought, lazily shifting in his bed. _'m right here, and it's not like we don't have eternity, anyway…_

But another voice broke through now, following a sharp sound like a door slamming.

"Mister Potter, _please!_ There are others here, and I assure you, he's - "

He knew that voice… older witch, Northerner accent, deceptively soft in tone with an underlying edge of no-nonsense… She was cut off, though, by a loud clattering as if something had been knocked over.

"_Really,_ Potter," a second witch chided. Now, _that_ voice – that ever-present brogue – he knew it well. It was weird, though, and more than a bit sad to know that Minnie was here. Sirius wondered vaguely what happened to her, and if there would be others. Well, of course there would be – he had no idea how long it had been. And for all he knew there had been another entire war he'd missed. People died all the time…

Several pairs of footsteps approached, and although he knew James would be the owner of one of those pairs of feet, Sirius was just so damned _tired._ He knew he should be leaping up to join his best friend, but he could barely move a finger. _Just five more minutes, mate…_

But they were right next to him now, and he could hear his friend swear softly under his breath. "How long?"

"We didn't know."

"But you've had him here for days…"

"We had to be absolutely certain it was him. What would you have had us do – pull you out of the field for an imposter?"

"_Yes!_" There was a pause, as if he was reining in his patience. His next words were quieter but still laced with tension. "Sorry, it's just – I can't believe, after all this... Professor, he's not – is he…?"

"It's '_Minerva_,' Harry." Her voice was gentle now. "And he appears to be fine, physically. But until he wakes, we won't know if…"

_'Harry'?_

Sirius' peace quickly drained out of him through the sudden tight spot that had developed in his chest. Surely his godson wasn't dead, too? Harry was meant to have lived – he'd been the reason for everything, for all of the struggling and sacrifice, at least as far as everyone else had been concerned… Frowning, he ignored the voices for a moment and concentrated all of his energy on forcing his eyes open. He'd have the rest of eternity to sleep.

"…years spent there. We don't know what he went through, or what it may have done to him mentally."

_Wait… what? 'Years'? Years spent where?_

Like some kind of panicked bird, Sirius' consciousness now fluttered and beat against his eyelids until finally he was able to pry them open, blinking against the light crust of dried gunk in the corners of his eyes.

The first shape to make itself clear in the soft light of his surroundings was that of an older witch in green tartan robes. Minerva McGonagall. She was completely grey now, her hair pulled back into a silver bun. Sirius found himself idly wondering where her hat was before his attention was caught by the other person standing at the foot of his bed.

_James…_

But no, this wasn't James. At a quick glance, it could easily have been him, sure. Same mess of black hair, same profile, and the voice had sounded identical. But there were too many differences; the posture, the cocky smirk that was missing… the build wasn't right, either. While proportionate, this wizard looked too filled-out to be Sirius' best friend. James had always been positively lanky, and a bit taller than this fellow, come to think of it. Still, the age looked to be about the same. The figure shifted slightly and the glare of light slipped from his glasses to reveal a pair of painfully familiar emerald-green eyes. _No, this wasn't James at all, it was--_

"Harry." Fuck, his throat felt like centuries' old parchment. The word came out as a barely audible rasp. Sirius tried to swallow, his tongue sticking briefly to the roof of his mouth with the effort. He must have moved or made enough noise to catch their attention, however, as their conversation quickly died and they both turned to him, wide-eyed.

He would have laughed had he not felt like his chest was weighed down by a mountain of concrete. Minerva's hands flew to her mouth, muffling the small cry that escaped. Harry, on the other hand, merely stood, speechless, a slight frown pulling at his eyebrows.

Finally working up enough saliva to at least clear his throat, Sirius tried again while simultaneously forcing his body to move. "Harry?" It was croak instead of a rasp – at least he was making some headway. With a grunt, he managed to lean up onto his elbows, the movement jarring his audience into action. Before he could do or say anything more, Poppy Pomfrey had swept down upon him, her numerous healers' instruments flying around his body in a blur as she clucked and fussed and poked and prodded at him.

After several minutes of this, Sirius finally lost his patience. He was hungry, thirsty, stiff, and he needed to take a piss. "Enough!" he barked, swatting away something that looked far too intrusive and pokey and was aimed rather unpleasantly in the general direction of his backside. Fighting against the dull ache in his head and neck, he heaved himself upright, ignoring the protesting sounds coming from both witches at his bedside. "Look, I'm fine, okay?"

"How?" Harry finally spoke. The single word held such a sharp, demanding tone that they all stopped and looked at him. His frown had deepened almost into a grimace and he shook his head slightly. His eyes flickered from Minerva to Poppy before resting again on Sirius. "How can you be 'fine'?" he asked tightly. "You were _dead_."

"No," Sirius replied. He took a deep breath and glanced around the room, taking a moment to absorb his reality. Upon opening his eyes, he'd recognized the Hogwarts infirmary almost immediately; Merlin knew he'd visited it enough times as a youth. But now, sitting up and feeling the tired, groggy ache in his joints, the grime on his skin from not having properly bathed in heavens knew how long, the itch of his excess facial hair, and the pungent smells of potions and antiseptics filling his nose, the truth hit home with an unspeakable resolve. "Not dead," he added softly.

"Then what, S-Sirius?" Harry demanded, stumbling slightly on his name. "We - _I_ \- saw it happen. If you didn't – if it wasn't… _death_, then what-?" He faltered and gave Sirius a helpless look. For a brief moment, he looked once more like the young boy who'd had his wits scared out of him by a giant, black dog in a dark alleyway the summer before his third year. "If it wasn't death," he said slowly, "then where were you?"

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, to tell Harry about that impossibly dark and surreal place, about his miraculous return just when he had been certain that all hope was lost. But as soon as he reached into his mind for the words to explain, they scuttled just out of reach. Closing his eyes, Sirius frowned in concentration, struggling to gather not just the words to describe his experience, but any clear memory of the experience itself. The harder he thought, however, the quicker his recollection of just where he had been slipped away.

"Sirius?" Harry's voice was now concerned.

"Let me think!" Sirius snapped impatiently, fighting against the panicky feeling that he was forgetting something very important.

_Start at the beginning,_ he thought to himself, and took a deep breath through his nose.

_Buckbeak's 'inexplicable' injury – no doubt from that useless little toerag Kreacher…_

_Snivellus, the pompous, big-nosed arse-fuck swooping through the front hallway, ranting about Harry being just like James, 'too arrogant to learn anything but what he saw fit', and how he'd made a mess of things, had walked right into 'the Dark Lord's' trap, was likely on some fool's mission to the Ministry thinking to rescue his worthless godfather… _

_The rest of the Order and their stupid bloody attempts to make him stay put when his own godson was in mortal danger… _

_His little cousin, bless her arse, pointing out along the way that it might be best that Sirius was 'tagging along' after all, because any eye witnesses would finally see he was batting for the good guys… _

_Catching Moony going red-faced when Dora asked the werewolf to kindly move his 'delectably tight arse' out of her way as she crept to the front of the group sneaking into the Department of Mysteries… _

_That door in the bowels of the Ministry so ominously left ajar, blue light flickering against glossy black walls and floor, gut-seething fury at the sound of shouts – mostly adult but for one familiar, youthful, female shriek that set his insides to ice before finally, finally charging through a door and into that huge, sunken, rectangular room… _

_Death Eaters – that Malfoy fuck, Dolohov, McNair, several others, and of course Bella. Fuck, it felt so good to be back in battle. Every frustration, all of his anger, pain, and hatred coursing through his limbs to be tightly focused into manouevers he hadn't used in far too long, struggling to make sure Harry and that other kid were safe, shoving all other thoughts from his mind because to worry about them, about _her_ would be his downfall, as he'd learned from experience so long ago… _

_Dumbledore arriving 'just in time,' and Merlin only knew what the hell took the old man so long, but never mind that now – there were only two left, just Sirius and his dearest, darling bitch of a cousin Bellatrix. The curses were flying silent with a rhythm and speed that was exhilarating – just two more shots, staggered strategically between a flurry of hexes, and the column right behind her would topple. He'd take her out by surprise that way, having learned in their youth that battling Bella with hexes alone was frankly inefficient and pointless. Cat and mouse… they'd always done this, were constantly toying with each other even as small children. Those jets of red were likely some stupid little jinx meant only to debilitate him just enough to capture him, then take him back for 'fun and games' later… _

_"Come on, you can do better than that!" And her curse found its mark. He wanted to laugh out loud as he lost his footing – sure enough, a simple Jelly Legs jinx – but something wasn't right. The air around him shimmered like the surface of a lake before dissolving, rippling, tearing… _

_Ice cold, blackness, falling, and then…_

Sirius clenched his teeth, his eyes still screwed shut. _What happened next?_ A shudder coursed through him followed by a brief wave of nausea – something distinctly unpleasant, but _what_?

"What _can_ you remember, Sirius?" Minerva asked gently.

"Shh!" he replied. It was right there, on the edge of his memory.

It just wouldn't come, however, so he tried thinking backwards, tried to remember the last thing he saw before waking up here.

_Hermione._ Sirius opened his eyes and looked at Harry. Judging by his godson's apparent age, he realized the vague and extremely brief image of Hermione his memory granted him may have been the real thing. Bushy brown hair, thin white shift, an unexpectedly odd scent of unfamiliar herbs wafting around them both, then cold, smooth, glossy black marble beneath his cheek. Flickering blue light fading to nothing. She was there – she'd rescued him single handedly, he knew this without a doubt. His chest tightened at what this could mean, and something warm and bright flickered in the back of his memory…

"Hermione," Sirius said, hauling himself fully upright and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Where is she?" he demanded. She'd know what happened…

"Sirius," Minerva began, a look of warning in her eyes.

"She's not yet regained consciousness," Poppy answered patiently. "According to Miss Lovegood, she'd been under a great deal of physical and mental strain in the weeks leading up to --" she waved her hand around vaguely and frowned. "-- _this_."

"Hermione?" Harry softly repeated. "What does she have to do with-"

"She was there," Sirius interrupted, swaying slightly as he stood. Poppy gave a _tsk_ and steadied him. "She got me out – rescued me," he added quietly.

"And _no one_ \- not even _she_ \- thought to tell me what was going on?" Harry asked darkly.

"Miss Granger did not exactly have permission nor official Ministry clearance for this rescue mission," a deep voice answered from the open doorway.

Despite his concern and frustration, Sirius couldn't help but grin at the sight of the tall, dark-skinned wizard who now approached. "Kings!" he greeted.

"Sirius Black," Kingsley said, shaking his head with a chuckle as he held out his hand. "We just can't seem to get rid of you, can we? How is he, Poppy?"

"If you would all permit me do my job, I might be able to tell you," the healer answered irritably. Then, blushing slightly, she added, "With all due respect, of course, Minister."

Sirius blinked several times, his eyebrows disappearing into the black, lanky hair that hung over his forehead. "_Minister?_" he sputtered.

Kingsley gave a sly grin. "Well, it has been a while, Black – I imagine there's quite a bit for you to catch up on."

"How long?" Sirius asked softly.

Harry was the one to reply. "Five years," he said, his tone almost curt.

"Yes, and we've yet to surmise whether Mister Black needs 'catching up' on anything _prior_ to his accident," Poppy interjected. "He appears to be having trouble with his memory."

"I'm sitting right here, Poppy," Sirius said pointedly. "And my memory is just fine, except for whatever happened after Bella hit me with that Jelly-Legs jinx – please tell me someone _did_ manage to take care of that bitch in my absence?" he added with a grin. Sensing by their silence that no one was amused, he continued. "All right, so I can't remember the bit where I was out. At least, not the details you all probably want. But, since our Hermione was the one who retrieved me, she'll be able to fill us in, yeah? Can't say I'm the least bit surprised it was her who saved my arse, I mean – no offense, Harry, but she always was the brains, and from what I've heard and seen, that Department of Mysteries has some pretty warped--"

"Right," Harry interrupted. "Madam Pomfrey, any idea when we can expect her to wake up?"

"She'll 'wake up' when her body has recovered from its extreme exhaustion," the healer replied huffily.

"But she's all right otherwise? We can see her?" Sirius pressed, straightening up and flipping his hair out of his face. Good lord, but he needed a bath, shave, and haircut. First, however, he needed to see Hermione…

"Well, as long as you refrain from disturbing her or any of the others--" Poppy began, but was cut short by Minerva.

"Before that, I'd like a word with Sirius. Alone, please," she added in an authoritative voice.

Harry stared at the elderly witch, his lips pressed into a thin line. After a moment, Kingsley tilted his head towards the doorway, and Harry merely gave a short nod and followed.

"This is highly irregular, Minerva, and for me to say that… well, I really would rather-" Poppy started to say, but again was interrupted.

"You'll have him under your observation for several more days, Poppy. All I ask is for a few minutes." Minerva motioned to the doorway, then pulled the privacy curtains shut and cast an Imperturbable Charm on the enclosed area. When she turned to Sirius, her expression was stern.

Before she could even open her mouth, Sirius stopped her.

"What date is it, Minerva?" he asked softly.

With a perplexed frown, she answered, "October thirteenth, two-thousand."

_Oh._ He sank down onto the edge of the bed, his eyes drawn to the faded tattoo lining the inside of his right wrist. With a nod, he said softly, "I see."

"Do you?" Minerva asked sharply. "A great deal has changed in your absence, Sirius, but the one thing you must know is that Hermione has not yet--"

"I _already know,_ Minerva," Sirius growled.

"Then you'll understand the importance of not--"

"Damn it, Min, I'm not a fucking child, contrary to what Albus and the rest of the Order would like to believe! I _know_, all right? Or is a man not supposed to give a flying fuck about the woman who risked her life to save his sorry arse? Maybe I shouldn't even bother, even _dare_ to _thank_ the witch, yeah?" He was up again, pacing the tiny area along the length of the hospital bed. He ran a hand through his hair with a bitter laugh. "Surprised Dumbledore isn't here in person to shutter me away from the world again. Or has he got someone else's life to make a living hell?"

"Albus is dead, Sirius," Minerva answered quietly, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

It felt as thought someone had dumped ice water on his insides. For as resentful and irate as he'd been towards the old wizard in the end, some part of Sirius had always regarded Dumbledore as a timeless, almost immortal fixture. And as stupid as that might be in reality, Minerva's words shook him to the core. No one was indestructible, and unless by some unlikely miracle the wizarding world had been spared the seemingly inevitable war, there were doubtless others who hadn't survived.

Sinking back down on the bed, he asked, "How? When?"

Shaking her head, Minerva replied, "It's a very long and complex story, one that needs to be told, perhaps, by him."

Sirius frowned at this, but let it go for the moment. "Who else, then?"

With a heavy sigh, she sat down in the chair next to the bed. "Well," she began, "there was a great battle, here on the grounds. We lost many, too many of which were students. Of course, there were many before that as well – Amelia Bones, Rufus Scrimgeour – yes, they managed to assassinate the Minister himself, Emmeline Vance, Florean Fortescue…"

A sense of dread grew and tightened in his stomach as she began naming names. They were almost too distant, too 'easy,' and Sirius suddenly had the feeling that Minerva was avoiding something difficult. It was only then that the realization hit him – his closest friend since James had been killed had distinctly _not_ been there when he'd awoken.

"Moony… Minerva, where's Remus?" he asked slowly.

She wouldn't look at him, and the way her down-turned mouth quivered slightly told him all. Remus was dead. From somewhere nearby, Sirius heard a pitiful, soft, agonized moan before realizing it had come from him. He felt like he was going to be sick, and suddenly all he wanted was to curl up in that bed, close his eyes, and forget he'd ever woken up. But he needed to know more.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," he heard Minerva mutter.

"How?" he croaked.

"The final battle. He and Nymphadora were both – they were together…"

Tonks, his little cousin. Another stab. His last memory of them both bubbled to the surface, and he felt his standby defence mechanism kick in. Breathing a soft chuckle, he said, "Please tell me she at least got him to snog her at some point…"

A slightly watery laugh came from the elderly witch, who suddenly looked very tired and much older than she had looked just ten minutes ago. "They married, actually. Their son is in Andromeda's care – he looks frightfully like his father, except for the hair."

Well, that was a small relief, anyway. "So, Andy and Ted are all right, then?"

"Not Ted," Minerva corrected sadly. "Once the Minister was killed and Voldemort's side had taken over, there was essentially a government sanctioned open season declared against Muggle-borns. Ted was captured and killed."

Sirius swore under his breath. His thoughts automatically went to Hermione – what had she gone through in order to survive? The idea of her being hunted down just because of 'blood status'… of course, doubtlessly Harry had suffered even worse. A surge of both rage and pride welled up inside of him briefly. With a bit of effort, however, he set aside the thought for later. Right now he needed to hear, needed to face the losses that had been delayed by his absence. "Go on, then."

"Fred Weasley," Minerva continued, "Severus Snape, and Alastor Moody."

The rather unsatisfying feeling Sirius felt upon hearing that Snivellus had bitten it was overshadowed by an oddly thick quality to Minerva's voice as she said this last name. A hard twinge of sympathy pulled at his chest as something he'd once suspected was silently confirmed. He reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry, Minerva."

Her head jerked up and she shot him a stern glare through eyes that shone slightly, but she didn't say anything.

"So, does this mean you're the new headmistress?" Sirius asked, trying to change the subject.

"I wouldn't say 'new'," she replied. "It's been a few years. Albus' portrait in my office can explain the details of both his and Severus' deaths, if you wish."

And so they had come full circle. A thick silence blanketed them both, and Sirius found himself just staring emptily at one of the many scratches in the aged floor of the hospital wing. The names Minerva had recited now cycled through his head, horrifically mesmerizing and numbing, sticking and repeating like a scratched record on that of his old friend until he managed to jar the list into motion again. He didn't want to think about Remus being dead, didn't want to grieve – not him, nor anyone. He didn't want to think about how he'd failed yet again, how, had he not fucked up and fallen away from this world, he might have somehow protected at least one of them.

After an unknown amount of time, Sirius vaguely noticed out of the corner of his eye Minerva getting up, removing the Imperturbable Charm, and opening the divider curtain just enough to pass through. He watched her leave, then resumed his focus on the marred floor, grateful that she hadn't stayed to fawn over him. Another memory surfaced unexpectedly – another loss so many years ago. It had been Albus and Minerva then, informing him of Reg's death hours before his parents even knew. Albus had seemed almost as though he'd expected some sort of emotional outpouring from Sirius, but Minerva somehow had known to just give him space even then.

All at once he felt very, very old. He was just considering giving in to the urge to lay back down and curl into a very depressed slumber when a new set of footsteps approached. He couldn't muster the energy to tell whoever it was to fuck off, so he just waited, not even looking up to see who it was.

"Are you all right?" came Harry's voice, now void of the strange edge it held just moments ago. The bed dipped beneath his weight as he sat a cautious distance away, but close enough to make Sirius' heart hurt. He was supposed to have been the boy's godfather, his guardian. He'd made that promise to Lily and James, bursting with pride and joy at finally having some kind of family – even if it was just by vow – family that wasn't that fucked up and twisted mess from which he'd been born. He'd made a promise, the biggest promise of his life, and he'd failed. Not once, but twice. He shook his head, not in reply, although Morgana knew he was definitely _not_ all right.

"I'm sorry, Harry." The words came out in a strangled croak. He felt like sobbing, but no tears came.

"Sorry?" Harry repeated, confused. "What-"

"I should have been there," Sirius interrupted, turning to face his godson finally. "God only knows what kind of hell you had to go through. I made a promise to your parents and not once did I ever manage to keep it."

Harry cursed softly and rolled his eyes. "It was _my_ fault, Sirius. I'm the one who needs to apologize. I never took the threat of Voldemort being in my head seriously, I never really tried to properly learn Occlumency, and when it all came down to it, if I had just used the damned mirror you gave me, none of this would have happened." He blinked and looked slightly startled with himself before exhaling loudly.

"You were just a kid, Harry," said Sirius, incredulous. "Surely you haven't been blaming yourself for an old man's foolishness this whole time…"

Harry looked down at his hands and fiddled awkwardly with the edge of the bed sheet. "Look, Professor McG-err, _Minerva_ told me what you and she talked about," he said stiffly.

For a wild, fleeting moment, Sirius thought he was referring to Hermione. He silently panicked for a few long seconds before realizing Harry meant the news of Remus' death and the others. As if it were possible, an even more uncomfortable tension fell over the small, partially enclosed area. The space around them was filled with that weird, hyper-awareness of emotions that happens in times of great loss – the pain that can't be denied, but that no one is really comfortable sharing, leaving both parties feeling useless and slightly guilty over the other's discomfort.

In that moment, Sirius became acutely aware of the fact that Harry wasn't, and would never be, James Potter. Sirius would never break down sobbing in grief in front of Harry, nor would he crack a completely inappropriate joke about the deceased in order to ease the helplessness of the situation the way he would have with his best friend. In fact, all he wanted to do right now was get the two of them out of that miserable little space, for both their sakes. He'd grieve later, alone and likely over a bottle of firewhiskey. But for now…

"Harry," Sirius began, "I don't really--"

"D'you want to go see Hermione?" Harry blurted out.

"Yeah," Sirius answered with immense relief, hauling himself to his feet once more. "Yeah, let's do that."

~

After a brief meeting with Kingsley in which Sirius was informed that his status of living would be updated in Ministry records by the following week, but Gringotts would require their own set of tests and procedures, they were shown to a small alcove at the other end of the hospital wing. There, motionless and pale even against the white bedclothes, lay Hermione Granger.

While Harry rushed to her bedside, Sirius hung back in the archway of the partly secluded area. All the air seemed to have left his lungs at the sight of the unconscious witch. She really _was_ exactly how he'd remembered her. Well, apart from the frizzy, bushy mess of hair – that bit looked exactly as it had when she was a schoolgirl. His gut gave a very unpleasant lurch as Harry settled into the chair close to her bedside, sliding his hand into hers, and muttering something he couldn't make out. It should be _him_ making such affectionate gestures…

The unpleasant lurch twisted into dread as Sirius watched Harry stroke the hair back from Hermione's forehead. _Fuck._ He'd never considered… _Why_ had he never thought of the possibility that…? _Oh, gods…_ Swallowing hard, he forced himself to join Harry in the other empty seat next to the bed.

"She means a lot to you," he observed softly.

Harry turned to him with a lopsided smile. "Yeah," he replied, "she does. She's always been there for me, even when Ron wasn't. Can't believe she did this, but it figures, I guess."

Jealousy and self-disgust slithered through Sirius' heart. He clenched his teeth, hard, until the twinge of pain in his jaw gave him the strength to ask, "So, how long have you and she-?"

Shooting him a quizzical look, Harry asked, "How long have she and I what?"

_Bloody clueless…_ Sirius rolled his eyes and spelled it out to him. "Well, I mean, did you two start dating back at Hogwarts, or was it after--"

"_Dating?_" Harry sputtered, then laughed. "No, Sirius – no. That's just…_wrong_."

_There's nothing 'wrong' about her, boy,_ Sirius nearly growled, but managed to keep quiet as Harry continued.

"Hermione is like… Well, you know how you always said my dad was more like family to you than your real family? That's how she and Ron are for me."

Sirius tried very hard to mask the overwhelming relief he felt. She was like a sister to Harry. Fan-bloody-tastic. He wanted to jump up and do a jig, but instead he just nodded and said, "I see. And how is Ron? Didn't she used to have kind of a thing for him?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry answered lightly. "They even tried to make a go of it after the war, but in the end they were bloody terrible as a couple. I'm just glad they figured that out before things could get too weird, you know?"

Humming sagely, Sirius let his eyes travel leisurely over Hermione's face. A familiar ache settled in his heart. She was right there – right in front of him, and he couldn't so much as lay a finger on her. Not in the way he wanted, anyway. But she was safe and well, according to Madam Pomfrey, and that was more than he could hope for, right? It was all he had any right to hope for, a small voice inside his head reminded him.

"Harry, Sirius," Minerva called softly from the wide archway of the alcove. "Poppy is closing the hospital wing for the evening. She says you can visit with Hermione again tomorrow, but only for brief periods. She needs as much peaceful rest as possible in order to recover."

As they walked down the length of the mostly vacant infirmary, Harry spoke. "Once you're released from here, there's plenty of room at Grimmauld. I know it's probably the last place on earth you'd want to stay, even with all the renovations we've done, but it's at least a roof and a bed until the rest is sorted out. And you know mum and dad left me more gold than I could ever need, so I'll arrange for the funds from your will to be transferred back into your name."

"Harry, I don't--"

Harry stopped and wheeled around to face Sirius, his expression determined. "You _do_, Sirius. Your name was cleared after the Ministry battle – Dumbledore made sure all charges were completely dropped from the record, even though the Wizengamot said it wasn't necessary, that it didn't matter. But it did matter, didn't it? Now you're free. You'll need something to live on, now that you can actually live."

Sirius stared at his godson for a moment and shook his head. "Weird," he muttered.

"What's weird?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

"You're not a kid anymore," answered Sirius. "Not that I ever saw you as a child, mind. You three were far older than your ages even then. But you're a man now. And you look like James, but you're so… _not_ James."

"Yeah, well, considering you and dad were apparently a couple of arrogant prats when you were my age, that might not be a bad thing, yeah?" Harry said with a half-grin. It was ironically the first glimpse of the Harry Sirius thought he remembered – the Harry that _had_ reminded him of James.

"Oi! We were a lot younger then than you are now," Sirius said in mock indignation.

"Yes," Minerva piped in suddenly, "James at least managed to grow up quite a bit once he finally caught your mother, Harry." The rest of her defence did not come, however. When Sirius cast her an expectant glance, she merely raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips pointedly.

"Nice," Sirius grumbled, although he was grateful that the teasing had at least managed to get Harry to loosen up a bit.

When he went to return to his bed, Minerva informed him that there was actually a private room prepared for him. Apparently Poppy had felt that now that he was conscious, he'd be better suited to staying in the guest quarters out of sight from any students coming and going from the hospital wing. Sirius suspected it had more to do with wanting to keep him from their 'other' patient, but he couldn't really argue the matter without confirming Minerva's worries.

"I should think you would appreciate some privacy for the remainder of your stay," Poppy muttered as she checked the suite and adjoined bathroom to make sure it had everything he would need.

"And how long might that be?" Sirius asked, looking around the small but comfortable room.

"Since you're missing bits of your memory, I'd prefer to observe you for a week. We need to test your magic retention, long-term and short-term recollection, advanced motor skills, overall mental stability--"

"You want to poke and prod at me for a _week_?" Sirius interrupted. "I _will_ be 'mentally unstable' after all that!" At least at Grimmauld Place, he'd had alcohol and books and the occasional Order member to occupy his time and attention. He did not relish the thought of being a fucking guinea pig for a whole week. "I told you, I'm fine, damn it!"

Poppy's eyes narrowed with a look that Sirius had seen many times, many, many years before. "You may _feel_ fine, Black, but until a qualified Healer fills out the Ministry-certified documentation for your health and 'aliveness,' you are an anomaly of nature, and a potentially dark one, at that. The only humans known to come back from the dead are Inferi, and unless you want to be considered one yourself, you will undergo the appropriate tests to prove otherwise. Of course, you can always check yourself in to St. Mungo's, where I am certain the reception will be markedly _less_ warm. They also have a habit of keeping special study cases for a minimum of two months…"

"All right, all right!" Sirius said, raising his hands in surrender.

"Very good, then," said Poppy, giving the bedding one last flick with her wand. "We'll start tomorrow on the basic screenings – simple spells and charmwork, memory exercises, and a period of hypnosis. Dinner will be sent up shortly, if you'd like to make yourself at home in the meantime."

"Am I allowed to leave this room?" he asked sullenly. "Or do I need permission?"

Poppy turned and looked at him, her no-nonsense glare softening into a more sympathetic expression. She eyed his clothing and unkempt hair and sighed. "I'll check with Minerva. I daresay, once you've cleaned up a bit and we get you some more acceptable-looking attire, she might let you make use of the library and grounds while you're here."

"Thanks," Sirius mumbled. Of course, it _would_ be nice to run around the grounds, he thought, looking out the window at the sunset shimmering on the lake.

"There's a bell-pull by the bed if you need me for anything," he heard Poppy say softly before the door shut quietly behind her.

Alone once more, the grief and memories and uncertainties clamored around his mind, threatening to smother him. Shaking his head hard, Sirius turned to the bathroom and was pleased to see that a pair of barbers' shears had been included with a fresh shaving kit. Without a wand, the job might be a bit rough, but it would still be a vast improvement. When he finally looked into the mirror however, he gasped out loud at the vision looking back at him. How the bloody hell anyone had recognized him was a mystery. His skin was as pasty as an Inferius, that was certain, and his hair was a grungy, matted mess. And _ugh!_ He squinted and leaned in close to his reflection. There were _grey hairs_ in the light beard that had formed on his jaw and neck. What the fuck… it wasn't fair! With a disgusted but determined growl, he set to work.

Several hours later, freshly showered, shaved, his hair now just brushing the back of his neck and his belly full of Hogwarts' finest food, Sirius was settled into the plush armchair by the window. He'd been asleep for two and a half days, evidently. Now, even as the small clock on the bedside table chimed the midnight hour, he wasn't the least bit tired. There was a small stack of books by his elbow that Minerva had sent up on his request: a few Muggle mystery novels that had been his old favourites, a couple of science fiction novels that Harry had evidently recommended, and a large volume that apparently chronicled the second Dark War. He'd been idly thumbing through these for the past hour, but now a restlessness gripped him that he just couldn't shake. His thoughts kept flipping between the friends and family he'd lost, and the witch who was laying unconscious just on the other side of that wall. Finally, at the strike of one o'clock, he got up, stretched, and walked over to the door.

The main area of the hospital wing was silent and shrouded in darkness. Sirius knew, assuming things hadn't changed all that much from when he'd been a student here, that Poppy's quarters were just on the other end of that long, open room. And, across from her closed doorway was the alcove where Hermione was being kept. There were a couple of beds between here and there that had the curtains drawn, but otherwise the infirmary was empty. Silently but confidently he made his way to that far end – after all, what would they do if he was caught? He wasn't some nervous, spotty little student, and it wasn't as though he was up to anything diabolical. He just wanted to see her, to sit with her and hold her hand the way Harry had done. After all this time and everything he'd been through, Sirius felt he deserved that much.


End file.
